Chapter 2
“Please lie still.”
He spoke as he lifted Mia’s clothes. Mia instinctively tried to stop him but relaxed when she realized he harbored no ill intent beyond medical treatment.
It felt awkward. The commander of the Rochefort Legion that Mia knew was never this delicate.
The dark red bandages peeled off with a sticky sound under his unfamiliar touch. Mia did her best not to show any signs of pain.
She must be tolerating it well. Etienne, after observing her reaction, concluded as much and began to speak. His hands continued to move busily, stitching her wound.
After hearing a rough outline of the situation, Mia calmly said,
“So, while we’re stationed here, our objective is to secure declarations of surrender from the surrounding territories.”
“That would be the best-case scenario, but we don’t actually expect them to surrender. Once our reconnaissance of the territories is complete, we’ll advance regardless of their response.”
That was news to her. What Mia had known before departure was that a surrender declaration was guaranteed. She had naturally assumed that was the mission.
Lost in thought, Mia fell silent, and so the treatment continued with only Etienne’s one-sided chatter filling the air.
As he tied the final stitch, Etienne infused divine power into Mia’s wound. Though his holy power wasn’t particularly well-suited for healing or recovery, it was at least enough to prevent the newly-stitched wound from reopening.
“All done. Now, if you have any more questions—”
He was wrapping the wound with a bandage as he spoke.
But no answer came.
…Did I do something wrong? A sudden anxiety gripped Etienne, and he reached out to feel under Mia’s nose. Thankfully, warm breath met his fingers—she was still breathing. That was a relief.
She had endured the treatment so well even while fully conscious, he had assumed she simply didn’t feel pain very acutely. Apparently, that was a misjudgment.
“If I’d known she was going to faint, I would’ve used anesthetics.”
A wrinkle formed on Etienne’s usually smooth forehead. Did it hurt that much? He should’ve checked on her even once. His troubled gaze lingered briefly on Mia’s eyelids.
‘Still, it’ll be fine…’
It took less than a day to find out that was a completely wrong assumption.
* * *
“Teach me how to use a sword.”
“…What?”
Who could’ve expected to hear that while training alone at night to avoid the soldiers who grew uneasy around the commander?
Etienne looked over the woman standing before him with disbelief.
She looked like she’d just bolted out of bed—her clothes were disheveled, her shoes barely tied. From the scabbard she must’ve grabbed in a rush, the sword’s hilt stuck out awkwardly.
A red stain stood out sharply against her white uniform. No matter how he looked at it, her wound had reopened. That alone was deeply concerning.
But then why was she suddenly asking this? Anyone could see that tending her wound was more urgent than sword training. Yet Mia seemed completely unconcerned with the blood soaking through her clothes.
This wasn’t the composed and inhumanly perfect Lady Blanchet, the perfectionist from high society who was said to never show a crack even among the political wolves.
Maybe she had a nightmare? Guessing at her intention, Etienne tried to calm her down.
“You seem tired. Why don’t you go back and rest? Let’s talk again in the morning.”
“No. I need your answer now.”
Her voice was firm. It wasn’t the slurred nonsense of someone half-asleep.
Only then did Etienne truly meet her gaze. Her crimson eyes burned with resolve.
He knew in that moment—this wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t some whimsical tantrum from a naive noble girl.
Mia Blanchet was completely serious. Whatever her reason, Etienne could feel that her resolve was genuine.
– Don’t look at me like I don’t know what I’m saying.
– Ah, was it that obvious?
– Is this how lenient you are when training soldiers too?
– I wouldn’t know. When those idiots get injured, they naturally start slacking off. I’ve never had to drag them out and force them to train.
– But Sir, am I like those soldiers?
– …Excuse me?
– If someone called a hero retreats to the rear for minor injuries, treating themselves like a common soldier, is that really right?
– My lady!
– I told you not to call me that!
Mia was desperate. But Etienne seemed more concerned that she couldn’t even finish a full sentence without pausing. He clearly didn’t want to keep her standing in the cold for long.
He eventually persuaded her with a condition—that they would talk again after she’d fully recovered. Mia reluctantly let herself be led back to her tent.
Rochefort didn’t follow. From outside the barracks, shouts from training echoed.
Mia sat alone, recalling the unsettling dreams of the previous night. Even though she’d gotten his promise to help train her, just remembering that dream left her feeling uneasy.
The mountain paths in winter were brutally cold and slippery. Unfamiliar with the climate, it took a long time to adapt. Thick snow and tangled branches obscured the view, and the terrain made it hard to detect ambushes or enemy encirclements.
The ever-present thought that a misstep could mean total annihilation gnawed at them. With each step, morale fell further.
But for the First Holy Legion, which had already lost nearly half its men, this treacherous path was the only way out. A massive enemy army occupied the plains, and the sea was far too distant to reach.
Taking a detour around the mountains would only invite pursuit. Retreat wouldn’t change the situation much either. The only real chance to reach the next target alive was to sneak through the mountains.
It was a fairly hopeless situation. But no one dared speak it aloud.
Because their only hope—Etienne Rochefort—still led them at the front.
No one predicted that this battle would be the commander’s last.
Except for one person—Mia Blanchet.
Mia watched the scene before her with an indifferent face. Maybe it was because she’d already experienced this once, or maybe because she knew it was a dream. Either way, she didn’t feel the same tension as before.
Frost fell. Soon, the enemy would strike under cover of the obscured visibility.
And soon, Rochefort would leap into enemy lines, caught in a trap…
‘Wait…?’
This dream was different from Mia’s memory.
“Get down!”
Rochefort shoved Mia aside and dashed forward in urgency. Rolling in the snow, Mia coughed dryly.
The explosion of divine energy and the blinding snow made it hard to see. But despite that, her growing combat experience let her perceive something.
Rochefort—he didn’t have to die here.
He hadn’t been caught in a trap. He’d chosen to jump into it.
If he had even a little more will to live, then surely he could have—
‘But if that’s the case… doesn’t that mean he died to protect me?’
Mia had stayed by Rochefort’s side to the end. She no longer remembered what she had been feeling at the time.
But she remembered thinking this was too much destruction for the sake of killing just one person.
Etienne Rochefort never screamed, even in the end. A gaping hole had been blown through his chest—so large it was hard to believe—but he endured it in silence. Whether he was just that strong, or whether he had something he had to say, Mia still didn’t know.
“Blanchet… you are… cough… far more capable… than you think…”
His divine power, almost entirely depleted by battle, faded from his body and gently wrapped around Mia as if to comfort her.
Ah, that’s right.
A memory buried under years of guilt rang like a bell in Mia’s mind.
Even then, his dimming violet eyes had looked only at her until the end. The last thing she saw on his face was trust. Eyes filled with such trust, utterly incapable of believing the subordinate holding his hand was responsible for his death.
It was a reward far too generous for all her failures and cruelty.
