Chapter 15
Chapter 15
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Yannick Unit (1)
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Long before the sun rose, a messenger arrived from the royal palace.
"I'm Dariya, in charge of your preparations and guidance today. Feel free to call me Dariya."
Like all royal maids, Mrs. Dariya hailed from a prestigious family. No matter how I looked at her, she didn't seem like someone who should be attending to a lowly officer like me.
"......"
"Is something wrong?"
"......No."
I was already unaccustomed to being waited on by others, which made dealing with her all the more awkward.
Unaware or perhaps unconcerned with my feelings, Mrs. Dariya deftly straightened the edges of my uniform with practiced hands.
This was no amateur work.
"My husband was a soldier."
"He's retired now, I take it."
"He fell four years ago in the Paluza Naval Battle."
"......My condolences."
My attempt to lighten the awkward atmosphere only made it worse.
Best to stay quiet now.
"All done."
Having finished adjusting my uniform, she asked for my medals.
I usually kept them stashed in my bag because they were a nuisance, but I couldn't do that on a day like today.
"They might be heavy, so be careful."
"......?"
I pulled a pouch stuffed deep in my backpack and handed it to Mrs. Dariya.
"Oh."
"Careful!"
"What's so heavy in here? Wait, are all these medals?"
Her eyes widened as she checked the contents.
With nothing to say, I just nodded.
"Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three...... My goodness. I've never seen so many medals in my life. And no one's ever stored them so carelessly."
She poured them out onto the table, inspecting each one, and let out an exclamation that was hard to categorize.
"Really? There used to be more."
I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth—they sounded like boasting.
But it wasn't boasting; it was the truth.
I'd long since pawned off any with even a speck of gold or silver.
"You're different from him. You're a real hero, Lieutenant."
I was startled by Mrs. Dariya's words.
When the families of fallen soldiers spoke of a "real hero," it referred to someone who earned glory while alive—a sarcastic jab at the Thracia military and royal family, who offered empty posthumous honors to gloss over their deaths.
A royal maid speaking such disloyalty!
Of course, if we were measuring disloyalty, I wasn't much better—having sold off medals awarded by the palace and military.
Still, it was absurd that a maid sent by the princess would show such resentment toward the crown. Then again, considering her husband had died in the Paluza Naval Battle, it wasn't entirely incomprehensible.
The battle had been dressed up as heroic sacrifice, but it was a man-made disaster born of armchair generals in Thracia's high command.
It aligned somewhat with the princess's dreams of military reform.
"Not sure if it'll work, but I'll give it a shot."
Mrs. Dariya's face lit up with determination as she swiftly sorted the medals on the spot, starting with the highest rank and pinning them to my chest.
"There, all set."
After much fiddling, she stepped back with a satisfied smile.
"Oh."
This time, even I was impressed.
With the 3rd Class Military Merit Medal at the top and the rest arranged in order below, it looked quite impressive. If I'd done it myself, it would've been a haphazard mess.
I now fully trusted her skills.
"No way! You don't need to go that far! Hair oil? That's unmanly!"
"Hair oil has nothing to do with manliness. Just stay still."
Of course, that didn't mean I'd let a Bluecoat slather on oil and slick his hair back like a Redcoat.
"Her Highness wouldn't want the star of the event showing up with a disaster on his head."
In the end, I yielded to royal dignity and let her do my hair.
Ugh. The dignity of the Bluecoats.
As I despaired, she chuckled softly.
"I don't get why men obsess over such pointless things. My husband was just like you, Lieutenant."
"Your husband must've been a true man among men."
"......If only his words matched his deeds. All talk and no substance."
She glanced at me sidelong, her eyes subtly nuanced.
Her downcast gaze and wistful expression tugged at the heart.
It felt like I should offer some comfort.
"......"
But instead of words of solace, I averted my eyes.
A young, beautiful widow seeking consolation from another soldier wasn't uncommon—or scandalous, for that matter.
Times being what they were.
It simply didn't appeal to me.
And it wasn't some outdated sense of duty as a fellow soldier.
I'd started suspecting her actions were calculated.
Money, promotion, honey traps—the most time-honored persuasion tactics.
History proved it.
My suspicion hardened into certainty.
The "Trakieri" wouldn't send someone without a plan.
Like most of her kin, she was not to be underestimated, no matter how young.
Let your guard down after a satisfying deal, and you'd end up stripped bare and broke.
I tightened my resolve once more.
My attitude toward Mrs. Dariya grew cautious.
She seemed to notice, ceasing her subtle maneuvers(?).
And then the royal carriage arrived.
"When the march begins, enter with the others. Follow the master of ceremonies' instructions after that. Still, you should memorize the order. You never know what might happen once it starts."
On the ride, I memorized the ceremony sequence she outlined.
There were other details to note, but most mirrored military protocols, so it wasn't too hard.
Preparations complete.
"We're here."
We arrived at a barracks near the square.
Aside from me, it housed soldiers who'd earned merits in the war—mostly junior officers and NCOs.
Senior officers had separate quarters.
-Who's that stepping out of a royal carriage......? And that woman—is she his wife?
-Bringing his wife to a place like this.
-Shh. Must be some highborn noble.
Officers who'd been eyeing me since I disembarked whispered nonsense.
I ignored them, took my assigned seat, and straightened up.
"What's that on his chest......?"
"No way those are all medals?"
The officers chattering about me and Mrs. Dariya finally noticed my decorations and gasped.
I sat ramrod straight, unperturbed, awaiting the call.
"Well, if it isn't him! The Guardian of Gaillard himself!"
Suddenly, someone hailed me.
A burly man with a striking beard grinned broadly.
"Heavy cav uncle?"
It was the Bluecoat from the Gaillard escape.
"Vupov here. I'm hurt—you remember me, but not my name?"
"As long as we both remember, names don't matter."
I offered a handshake, glad to see him, but glanced behind.
"......My brother? He didn't make it."
Vupov stated it flatly, catching my look. Now that he mentioned it, there was a new burn scar on his face—marks of a direct magic blast.
"Ah. Sorry to hear that."
"Eh, he went out charging like a proper Bluecoat, so no regrets. But hey, you were a Bluecoat too?"
"My uniform was ragged then. Frontline supplies being what they are."
"True, but still......"
He glanced at my rank insignia and snapped to attention.
"I let my excitement get the better of me earlier. Forgive my rudeness, Lieutenant."
Rank aside, we were both Bluecoats—no hiding branch or unit.
"At ease. No issue here, Bluecoat."
Especially with so many eyes around.
-Did he just say Guardian of Gaillard?
-So that's the Bluecoat who crushed the Astoria forces at Schrelgrad...
The murmurs grew louder.
"And this lady? As expected of a hero, a beauty by your side......"
"She's with the royals. Watch your mouth."
This was for Vupov—and the other officers flapping their gums.
"......!"
The gossiping officers paled and shut up.
Junior officers, not even field grades, talking smack about a royal? No wonder they blanched.
Serves them right for running their mouths.
Finally quiet.
Mrs. Dariya looked at me incredulously, having unintentionally terrified them.
I just shrugged at her.
Thracia's traditional victory march echoed across the square.
Military buglers joined by the royal band produced a grand performance. Battle-hardened officers marched in perfect unison, sending the crowd into unprecedented frenzy.
Their cheers were deafening.
Even after we took our seats, the citizens kept roaring.
At this rate, the master of ceremonies would be inaudible.
Good thing I'd memorized the order per Mrs. Dariya's advice.
"Authorized by Thracia's sun, the wise and valiant King Igor Trakieri, to oversee this victory ceremony: the eldest daughter of the Trakieri royal house, First Princess Yeniche Trakieri enters!"
As expected, the princess timed her entrance perfectly, at the peak of the crowd's excitement.
"All rise and pay homage!"
The hoarse master of ceremonies bellowed the announcement.
Snap.
I clasped my hands behind my back, standing tall, chin up until it ached.
-For Thracia!
-For Thracia!
A legion commander's lead chant rippled through the front ranks.
The ceremony began.
First, the princess's speech: how vile the Astoria forces were, how bravely Thracia fought.
Her impassioned words rose with the swelling royal band.
"Thus, we triumph once more—Thracia is eternal!"
At the music's climax, she declared victory.
Her frail frame somehow projected to every corner of the square.
"Hooray!"
"Long live Thracia! Long live the royals!"
The crowd erupted.
Then came the tedium.
The princess called names in order of rank; honorees ascended, merits recited, awards bestowed.
"15th Legion Commander Langrid Guldiv routed the Astoria 4th Legion, pursued and annihilated them! Aiding allies in combat, she dealt devastating blows, crushing their ambitions—her merits immense!"
The only one I knew was the 15th Legion commander.
Made sense.
Frontline commanders I knew had fallen early; survivors were mostly losers unfit for this event.
"Hooray! Long live the 15th Legion!"
She descended amid the loudest cheers yet. Some calls later, our 8th Legion commander received his.
The cheers were softer, but he beamed with satisfaction.
The pattern repeated endlessly.
Citizens, hoarse from initial fervor, now mumbled mechanical "hoorays."
By field-grade officers, exhaustion set in; some awkward silences followed junior officers.
The recipients were thrilled, but spectators grew bored of the repetition.
I felt the same.
Having already secured major rewards from the princess, the ceremony dragged.
So, unbeknownst to me, I dozed off.
"Hoooooray!"
A monstrous cheer jolted me awake mid-nod.
What? What's going on?
I startled upright.
The entire square shook with cheers; sleep vanished.
I looked around wildly.
Ahead, the 15th Legion commander struggled not to laugh. The 8th looked pale, mouth agape.
Why was everyone staring this way?
"......Forward!"
The master of ceremonies screamed like a dying man—in my direction.
"Lieutenant Yannick! Forward!"
I blankly met his glare before realizing it was my turn.
Gasp!
I scrambled to the podium.
Passing the generals' seats, hostile glares poured down.
The 15th smiled; the 8th clutched his head.
Finally, at the podium.
I stood at attention, awaiting the princess.
"Lieutenant, ascend the podium."
She spoke.
"......?"
My eyes widened.
No one else had received such an order amid countless awards.
Even her ally, the 15th commander, got hers below.
Thoughts raced, but I moved fast.
Carefully—not provoking the Redcoats with hands on swords—I ascended slowly.
"Kneel."
I knelt to her solemn command.
But my mind raced.
Why different? What's the difference?
Merits first, normally.
"Your sword."
Suddenly, she called for it.
Was she beheading me for dozing? No.
"You who tread dust as your footprints, leaping o'er steel and crimson blood. State your name."
Wait—I know this!
"Yannick. Surname forsaken."
"Yannick. What do you vow to uphold all your life?"
"......Victory. Greater victory."
"Oh! Thracia's overwhelming triumphs henceforth your charge?"
Hardly believing it, I traded words with the princess.
"Vow it. Here, declare your creed eternal."
"......I vow."
The longsword's chill touched both shoulders, nape.
"By Thracia's first knight, King Basil Trakieri—and eldest daughter Yeniche Trakieri—I dub thee knight. Remain ever brave, courteous, loyal."
The square exploded.
Snap.
She raised one hand.
Cheers halted abruptly.
But it was merely a breath—for greater thunder.
"By rights vested in the Trakieri eldest, I grant thee Schrelgriff Castle."
Cheers resumed, louder, shaking the earth like an earthquake.