Chapter 66
Mia still lay motionless.
Her limp posture looked unnatural. Against the rough woolen blanket, her skin appeared almost translucent, her chest rising and falling in shallow, irregular breaths. Even in unconsciousness, each breath seemed to demand tremendous effort.
And yet they say she may never wake up…
An onlooker might have concluded it was the result of sheer exhaustion, her body at its limit after a grueling battle. But Étienne knew better. He had lived through this very same condition before.
“Ah, Commander.”
Bertrand rose to his feet as soon as he noticed Étienne enter. In the hushed stillness of the tent, even the creak of his joints sounded loud.
“There is no sign of improvement.”
He shook his head. The hand that picked up a towel—usually steady—trembled slightly.
“But I have a suspicion.”
“Oh? Speak.”
“The… the symptoms match exactly with what happened to you before, Commander.”
Étienne’s jaw tightened. Though he was uninjured, a sharp pang shot through his chest. He remembered too well the agony of the moment he had collapsed. He had never once wished Mia would understand what that felt like.
“But if it’s the same, then surely you should have diagnosed it…”
“I could not. Forgive me. Even this time, I can’t find a clear cause.”
How incompetent could this so-called army physician be? Étienne opened his mouth to reprimand him—when a commotion sounded outside the tent.
Moments later, the flap burst open. A rush of cold air swept in, making the lamplight flicker violently. Standing in the doorway was Alain.
“Commander!”
His voice came ragged, as if he had sprinted a long way. After glancing at Étienne’s expression, he caught his breath and continued.
“During reconnaissance, we discovered an abandoned village in the mountains. It’s about an hour’s march from here.”
“I see. And you believe that a deserted mountain village could hold strategic value?”
“Perhaps not for the long war, but… we could use it as a temporary base while we regroup.”
“We hardly require regrouping. Our legion is not—”
Étienne fell silent when he caught Alain’s gaze flicking toward the unconscious strategist on the cot.
Damn it.
He, too, did not want to march forward while Mia lay senseless. If it were only his personal feelings holding them back, he would have forced himself to give the order to advance. But the truth was, there were many more reasons for caution.
In winter campaigns, one could never ignore the condition of the soldiers. Rushing for the sake of reaching their destination a day or two earlier meant not the enemy, but nature itself, would claim their lives.
He remembered well how, during the Astor Kingdom campaign, countless men had perished because of that ignorance. Though the army had won the war, so few remained that they had no choice but to agree to a peace that benefited Etalon.
The Holy Legion had been so weakened that it could barely suppress even the minor revolts of a tiny mountain nation.
If not for Emperor Antoine’s greed, there would have been no reason to launch another campaign merely six months after that so-called “victory”—let alone against Veridian.
Two legions and a complacent navy—how were they supposed to win a war of this scale? Even Etalon, far older and stronger as an empire, had its limits.
To say that they had to invade at once simply because the prophesied Hero had appeared—what nonsense. No scripture from the Goddess had ever demanded such a reckless, self-destructive war.
It was true the Goddess had chosen Mia as Hero. But the timing of this campaign into Veridian? That was entirely the Emperor’s doing.
Still, Étienne bore the duty of protecting the men under his command—even if it meant receiving more letters of rage from the Emperor himself. Regardless of his personal opinion, only through caution could there be any chance of victory.
He exhaled a long, heavy sigh.
“Very well. Assemble a small advance party.”
Alain’s face lit up with surprise, as though he hadn’t expected agreement. Ignoring his expression, Étienne continued.
“Secure the village first. Then the main force will move. The wounded will follow after. I will accompany them personally.”
At that last remark, Alain’s eyes flicked to Mia lying nearby. He seemed about to speak, then thought better of it and left quickly.
When he was gone, Étienne turned back to Bertrand.
“Sort out the essential medical supplies first. Make sure Mia and the other wounded remain stable during transport. You’ll march with the second group.”
What choice did a mere physician have? Bertrand only nodded gloomily.
After the doctor departed for the wagons, Étienne lingered, his eyes fixed on Mia’s pale face. In the lamplight, shadows danced, and he could have sworn her eyelids quivered.
“Endure this, Mia,” he whispered, so softly that the rustle of canvas and the bustle of soldiers outside nearly swallowed his voice.
“It isn’t over yet. Just as I came back… you too will open your eyes.”
He gave his “beloved” one last look before stepping out into the thickening darkness. Perhaps because memories of failure weighed on him, every command he gave, every inspection he carried out across camp, felt unbearably heavy—like the very title of “commander” pressed down harder than ever.
It took hours to move the troops.
Night deepened around the temporary camp, and above stretched a sky littered with dazzling stars, as if a great quilt had been spread overhead. Strangely serene, strangely warm for a night of war.
Despite the ambush they’d suffered earlier in the day, the soldiers still found time to chat in little groups, exchanging trivial stories.
Only their commander, pacing the edge of camp, made no effort to hide his grim mood. He knew the ambush had not cost them heavily. He knew Mia would likely wake, just as he had once woken. And yet—he could not be at ease.
The word likely felt almost like an insult.
After his own collapse, Mia had seemed deeply shaken. At the time, Étienne had not understood her at all.
Why blame herself? he had thought. He had been the one to fall, not her. None of the events leading up to it had been her fault. By what twisted logic could his collapse be seen as her failure?
But now, watching Mia lie pale and unresponsive, forced to endure the helplessness of simply standing by—only now did he begin to grasp the despair she must have felt.
Even without speaking of it, he could still vividly recall her face from that day: the raw terror in her eyes, the trembling of hands that had never wavered even after the hardest battles. He had dismissed it as the pressure of command, the burden of leading in his absence. But slowly, the truth behind those moments revealed itself.
“So that’s why…” he murmured.
He had never understood why Mia so desperately tried to shield him. Even after his collapse, he had returned to the field unscathed—her concern had seemed excessive, even irritating.
But now… now he finally recognized the fear beneath her actions.
He lingered in thought for a long while before turning toward the medical tent. Light glowed softly through the canvas walls, and he knew Mia lay within.
An almost overwhelming urge seized him—to go in, to remain at her side until she woke.
If only I weren’t the commander…
