Chapter 72
‘All I need to do is check on her once every hour—what’s so troublesome about that?’
Of course, even as he thought so, he never forgot to silently rebuke Bertrand in his heart.
Under the gentle glow of the lamp, Mia’s face looked calmer than before, almost peaceful. Etienne sat down in the chair beside her cot, preparing himself for yet another long night without rest.
The loneliness was heavier than ever.
The Emperor’s messenger arrived at dawn, a full week later. He had ridden so hard that not only he but even his horse was drenched in sweat.
Etienne, who had spent yet another restless night at Mia’s bedside, accepted the envelope with weary eyes. Though he knew such confidential matters could never be entrusted to a carrier pigeon, for a moment a petty thought crossed his mind—“They might as well have sent one.”
He knew it was against unbreakable principles, but with Mia showing no sign of waking, impatience sometimes overtook him.
‘Oh…’
The seal on the envelope was not of the Imperial Office, but of the Emperor himself. A bad premonition crept over him.
It was never a good sign. A personal letter from the Emperor rarely contained anything meaningful or hopeful.
Etienne broke the seal in front of the messenger. If an answer was needed, it would be more efficient to give it immediately—there was no point in making the man wait outside.
⌜To Etienne Rochefort, Commander of the First Holy Legion.
Your recent reports are wholly unsatisfactory. Though Blancheur’s condition is regrettable, it is irrelevant to the greater purpose of this campaign.⌟
Etienne’s face darkened at the very first line. The Emperor showed not the slightest concern that the Hero of the Goddess lay in critical condition, so dire that even a legion commander had pleaded for aid.
‘When His Majesty insisted on this expedition despite the circumstances, I already suspected he cared little for the safety of his soldiers… but still…’
He sighed and forced himself to keep reading.
⌜Furthermore, have you not also been entrusted with her special mission?
Did I not command you that, should you fail to bring swift results in the conquest, you must at least accomplish that task without delay? Even now, months after your departure, you have yet to complete it. I am most disappointed.
Thus, I order you to commence an immediate full-scale assault on the capital of Veridian. You are not to delay further with ‘special missions’ or other operations.
Do not concern yourself with supply lines or reinforcements. Glory belongs to those bold enough to seize it! Should there be any delay, I will personally deliver the punishment due for your cowardice and insubordination.⌟
Even in front of the imperial messenger, Etienne could not suppress a bitter laugh. Concern for the lives of one’s men was branded as cowardice? It was fortunate the Emperor did not personally take command at the front.
And the letter only grew more absurd in its next part, especially considering the plea for help Etienne had sent.
⌜As for these so-called ‘strange incidents’ you reported, let me tell you plainly: you have no time to waste on such ludicrous superstitions. From now on, ignore such trifling distractions and devote yourself solely to your objective.
Remember—questioning the wisdom of the Empire is not your role. I expect this order to be carried out without delay. Fail, and you will bear the consequences of defiance.⌟
After that came line after line of threats, promising punishment should matters not proceed as the Emperor wished.
The contents were obvious, yet the letter bore the Emperor’s own hand. That alone made it graver—especially when he dismissed crucial factors that could determine the war’s outcome as mere “trifling distractions.”
As dawn light stretched long shadows across the cramped tent, Etienne stood motionless, the Emperor’s letter crumpling in his clenched fist. That crushing of the paper’s edges was the only outward display of the fury he felt.
Not until he read the letter twice more did he finally accept the truth: there was no hidden meaning, no clever stratagem.
The Emperor’s letters always revealed the same thing—grandiose delusions and a blatant ignorance of tactics. An all-out assault on the enemy capital, without secured supply lines or reinforcements, without even knowing the state of the foe? It was madness.
Considering the course of past campaigns, it was hardly surprising. What was different this time was only Etienne’s desperate hope for something better.
Feeling stifled, he paced the small tent endlessly.
It was not the first time the Emperor had issued a capricious, impossible command.
His mind went back less than a year, to the campaign against the Kingdom of Asto. He had not been the commander then, and though he had been given the hollow authority to “oversee strategy,” he could not contradict the commander’s decisions.
Needless battles, wasted lives—all because the Emperor clung to strategies that looked sound only on parchment but collapsed utterly on the battlefield.
For years, Etienne had gritted his teeth, striving to minimize losses—obeying orders while secretly doing everything he could to shield his men. He told himself it was his duty, that surely the Emperor must have reasons he simply could not understand.
But now… Mia still had not recovered her health. Whether others recognized her or not, she was the Hero of the Goddess, acknowledged by both the Emperor and the Temple.
And yet, the very man who had sent her into this war now showed not the faintest concern for her condition, demanding instead what was nothing short of a suicide mission. Something about it was undeniably wrong.
He turned his gaze to the Etalon banner behind him. Once, the golden eagle had been a proud symbol of patriotism. Now it mocked him, a gaudy emblem of a leader’s hollow vision built atop the bones of soldiers and civilians alike.
Etienne stared at Mia for a long time. Guilt gnawed at him. Whatever he did, the Emperor’s “special mission” hovered uneasily in his mind.
He knew all too well that the orders were not truly for Mia’s sake—they were harsh, coercive, and sometimes outright restricted her freedom.
But if not for Mia, why else would the Emperor wish to squander his own strength? Etienne clung to the belief that obeying would somehow protect her. Perhaps he simply needed to believe that, to ease his own conscience.
Not that it made much difference now.
But seeing the Emperor dismiss even her worsening condition as nothing, doubt finally seeped into his once-steadfast faith.
“Have I truly made the wrong choice?”
He couldn’t know. Perhaps, he thought bitterly, he had been manipulated—betraying Mia’s trust under the guise of protecting her.
The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.
“But at least this time… I thought I was doing it for you.”
He murmured the words softly over Mia’s hair.
Then he began pacing again, his boots carving deep prints into the dirt floor.
Five steps forward, turn, five steps back. Another five to the side. The precise rhythm did nothing to calm the storm in his heart.
With each step, questions he had long suppressed echoed louder in his mind.
Were the things he had done in the name of protecting Mia truly for her best?
Or had they only suppressed and limited her potential?
Etienne was no perfect man. He had no certain answers. In truth, he wasn’t even wise enough to always know what choice was right for her. At least in matters of war, he had thought himself competent—that was why he had accepted the Emperor’s proposal.
And yet…
