Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Like a Butterfly, Like a Bee (1)
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Who could that person be, the one the princess mentioned whose name she couldn't reveal?
"Surely not His Majesty."
The first thought that came to mind was the king.
But doubtful.
Thracia's current monarch was a cool-headed man who never moved without gain, and at this point, visiting the northern front wouldn't yield much political benefit.
Just some praise as a benevolent ruler comforting the frontline troops and a bit of popularity. That was it.
And that wasn't a very appealing option for the head of the Trakieri royal family, who had built unprecedentedly strong royal authority.
"Then who?"
I pondered.
There weren't many people the princess would show that level of respect to.
Maybe I missed something.
Unfortunately, I'd already burned the princess's letter, so I couldn't check it again.
Thus, I decided not to think any more about who it was.
I'd find out naturally when the time came.
I shook off the stray thoughts and stepped out of the tent.
"Ack, brr."
A sharp wind hit me the moment I stepped outside.
Winter was already approaching fast.
"Reinforce the roofs and stuff in more straw."
"Is this all the firewood? I need to see Major Sanov."
While I was at it, I inspected the stables and tents to check winter preparations.
The Bluecoats were all veterans, so there wasn't much for me to do.
The problem was the Doppelzoltner.
"Wind. Crazy. Thracia."
The mercenaries from across the continent were utterly baffled by Thracia's weather. And winter hadn't even properly started yet.
"If it's that cold, change your clothes. Or at least layer up."
"No. Symbol. Must protect."
I pointed out their flashy imperial uniforms, which prioritized style over cold resistance, but their response was something else.
"Is that more important than your lives?"
"...Comrades. Protected. Tradition. We. Protect too."
The Bluecoats layered up thickly come winter, and these guys weren't even used to the cold, yet they insisted on showing off.
Then again, the Doppelzoltner's stubbornness was famous across the continent.
There was even this incident once.
—Those lowly mercenaries dare to use crimson dye as their symbol. They must be punished severely as an example.
When noble-exclusive high-grade dye ran out because of the Doppelzoltner, some noble complained to the emperor about their moral corruption and demanded punishment.
—Don't they live like flames that burn brightly and fade gloriously? Let them enjoy that luxury while they live.
But the emperor dismissed it, citing the Doppelzoltner's fleeting lives as they always charged first and fought last on the battlefield.
If the emperor hadn't backed them then, they'd all have been hanged.
Even after that, they clung to those bizarre outfits, so no way my words would sway them.
Tsk. That's why imperial bastards are...
Still, they'd be under me for a while, so I couldn't just let them freeze. I took some measures.
Measures meaning asking Major Sanov to supply the clowns with enough firewood and insulated undergarments.
"Hm?"
As I patrolled the fortress, I spotted soldiers lined up in front of a makeshift tent.
They looked like they were waiting for chow, but mess time was long over.
"Lieutenant?"
"Jamal."
I approached and saw familiar faces greeting me: Ivan Alekof, Artem Rtchen, and some newbie Bluecoats.
"We heard there's a skilled fortune teller in the fortress, so we figured we'd get these guys' fortunes read too..."
A strange sense of déjà vu hit me. I brushed past them and flung open the tent flap.
"...?"
"...?"
My eyes met those of a woman murmuring over a crystal ball and unidentified beast bones on the table.
"I can't hear the goddess's voice anymore today. Time to go."
She looked at me and said it oh-so-casually.
"No way! We've been waiting an hour!"
"What can I do? Complain to the goddess if you want."
"Then give us our money back!"
"Getting a tip refund means three years of bad luck. Still want it?"
"...Fine, we'll come back tomorrow. See us first."
I stood at the entrance for a bit, and she started packing up.
"Freeze. Stop right there."
"Ugh, what now!"
"Caught scamming and just gonna slip away?"
"Scam? This is a time-honored, legal business."
The fortune teller, Asha, brushed it off nonchalantly.
"Got any victims? Bring 'em."
She'd admitted herself not long ago she wasn't a real fortune teller, yet here she was, brazen as ever.
"Why wouldn't I? Here I am."
I'd trusted her words, enlisted, and taken on dangerous missions. Looking back, it was a miracle I hadn't died.
"Hmm. All I see is some luckless fool who scraped by on someone else's merit and climbed the ranks."
"......."
"And blaming others for a path you chose? Pretty pathetic, don't you think?"
If anything, thanks to me, her life had improved from before.
"......."
She was speechless.
She had posed as a fortune teller, sure, but had I really suffered any loss? Tough to say.
"Anyway, you need some responsibility. One word from you can change lives, for better or worse."
"I never give super specific fortunes anyway. My tips are cheaper than most. Customers are all happy—why're you complaining?"
She rambled that it was a public service to ease people's inner fears and anxieties.
It sounded like sophistry, but not entirely unconvincing.
Frontline soldiers facing death anytime desperately needed mental comfort.
Especially now, with comrades dying everywhere.
"...Speaking of, not doing the old lady disguise anymore?"
"What, worried about me? Yeah, no. Too much hassle, and the soldiers here are pretty well-mannered."
"Worried? Just checking discipline as an officer."
Sure you were.
Asha shrugged.
"More importantly, you've had a lot of good luck lately, huh?"
"Spare me the fortune teller act now..."
"I told you before: life isn't all uphill or all downhill."
Her vibe was odd as she said it.
Her rare amber eyes shimmered strangely, eerily so.
"The higher you climb, the worse the fall hurts."
Her voice even resonated deeper than usual.
"......"
I stared at her silently for a while.
She'd said she wasn't a fortune teller, but now I wasn't sure.
"Just practical advice. I've been hearing a lot about you lately."
Her eyes and voice returned to normal.
"That deputy commander guy? His officers under him seem pretty pissed lately. And it's bad enough that even I think it's serious."
I usually don't spill customer info, but exception this time.
"You saved me from those deserters, right? Consider it payback."
Asha smiled ambiguously.
"The other staff officers' movements..."
Asha's words nagged at me, so I went straight to Lieutenant Colonel Evgen Sanov.
"Lately, they judge people by academy background over ability, forming cliques in the army. It feels unsettling... Ahem."
I stared, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Anyway, I've been keeping distance lately. But why do you ask?"
"Actually..."
I relayed what Asha had told me.
"Could be. My sudden attitude shift might've confused them."
His expression hardened.
"Hard to imagine legion staff acting out blindly, but who knows with people. Got it. I'll handle it. I'll call the staff and talk."
"If you would, I'm grateful."
"Grateful? It's all my karma."
So I left the staff issue to the lieutenant colonel.
Around the start of winter, guests arrived at the fortress.
"I'll be imposing for a while."
"No impositions between soldiers. Make yourself at home."
Some troops from a forward fortress were heading south to stay at ours.
Nothing special, an annual routine.
The border was far north of Schrelgrad, and wintering all troops there was inefficient.
So the Thracian army rotated some to fortresses not too far from the front but milder. This year, it was Schrelgrad.
The 8th Legion, under half strength, had plenty of room.
Even as the fortress bustled with guests, the princess's 'that person' remained silent.
Who was it? Coming or not?
Didn't matter.
Winter had arrived.
Like everyone, but especially harsh for soldiers.
"This shitty supply liner!"
"Seriously, make a rule that HQ staff serve one year up front. Then maybe they'll improve this crap quality."
Resupplies resumed, and troops cursed the late arrivals.
Even shit like this beat nothing, so they grudgingly layered up.
"Bluecoats have it good. No watches, just lounge in tents, quick ride, done."
Infantry envied Bluecoats.
"Infantry bastards, doze by the fire and watch ends."
"Walls block the wind, total sweet deal."
But we envied infantry.
"Ugh. Speed up and face gets shredded, slow down and spin all day."
"Fucking coooold!"
They wailed against the wind from horseback.
And I...
"Hm. Not bad."
Officer-issue fur kept me warm.
No watches, no patrols.
And firewood delivered regularly.
No fighting for the leeward tent spot.
Success really mattered.
As a junior officer, I savored my first frontline winter.
Not that I was thrilled or anything.
Officers or not, soldiers are soldiers.
Military fortresses aren't livable anyway.
But better than patrolling plains getting wrecked by wind and cold.
Or so I thought.
"Reinforcements requested."
A sudden request came.
"Prepare one cavalry platoon and one infantry platoon."
"The men will complain. Deployment in this weather."
"Don't worry about their gripes."
The commander looked at me pityingly.
"You'll go too."
Right. Forgot.
"They specifically requested you."
The world hates me.
Whoosh!
The wind assaulted us right outside the fortress.
"Winter, you bastard."
Profanity slipped out.
"Double-check liners and armor."
I grumbled inwardly but ordered the Bluecoats to inspect gear.
Heavy plate in this weather was risky itself.
Galloping could freeze armor solid; sweat or wet skin sticking meant disaster.
Even seasoned warhorses risked joint or muscle damage from exposure.
Veteran Bluecoats knew, but the flashy foreigners worried me.
"Crazy! Thracia! No! Place for humans!"
They'd barely left, lips already blue, screaming pathetically.
At least they'd layered the supplied cloaks.
But when did they dye the cloaks?
More importantly, sourcing those garish dyes up front?
"Dye. Always stock. That's. Battlefield artists. Us."
First time seeing guys carry dye stockpiles.
At least cloaked up sloppily, no freezing deaths en route.
"But do we need full battle readiness?"
Jamal asked while checking the Doppelzoltner.
"Request's from way back in our lines. Need heavy gear in friendly territory? Might nitpick."
Bluecoats nodded.
"For eventualities."
Things had gone too smoothly lately.
Smoothst stretch of my life.
Initially dismissed it.
But after Asha... maybe fate would smack me now.
Plus.
'I don't know exactly who requested. Security, can't disclose.'
Requesting aid anonymously?
Suspicious.
—The one whose name cannot be revealed has secretly left the capital. When north winds howl, their steps will reach there.
Definitely the princess's mystery VIP arriving.
Whoever, if she spoke that way, major kingdom figure.
Better prepared.
"Move out!"
We headed south into the wind.
After a while, faint noise on the breeze.
Sharp yet dull sounds.
"Full speed!"
"Platoon! Gallop!"
No complaints now.
Screams and metal clashes too vivid on the wind.
Thud thud thud thud.
Bluecoats kicked up dust charging.
—First! Us! Soon!
Incoherent Thracia from the Doppelzoltner through the dust; we spurred madly.
Ridge line ahead.
Iron scent at my nose.
Blood.
"Maintain direction! Straight ahead!"
Rather than skirt, we crested the ridge.
"Lieutenant! Redcoats under attack down there!"
Jamal shouted as view cleared.
"Tighten helmet straps! Lower visors! Lances to armpit!"
I dropped my visor, dug heels in.
"Charge!"