The Commander-in-Chief's Silent Dawn
Ena's mornings always began in silence—excessively so, to me, her direct aide standing at her side. The position of Commander-in-Chief of the Geomgye was never one that could afford quiet. Or rather, it might be more accurate to say it shouldn't be.
Damage reports from the Eastern Front. Supply requests from the western fortress. Records of mana anomalies compiled by the 5th Squad. Internal inspection documents submitted by the 9th Squad. Unnecessarily lengthy missives from the royal houses of various nations. Veiled political pressure from the cathedral. And the operational deployments and training status reports for all ten squads of the Geomgye. Every morning, it all piled up on the Commander-in-Chief's desk in her office at Geomgye Headquarters.
War doesn't end just because swords stay sheathed. If anything, more wars rage in the time swords remain undrawn—wars fought not on the battlefield, but on paper. Ink flows in place of blood, signatures in place of sword strikes. Wars where human lives are reduced to numbers in a single report. So the Commander-in-Chief's mornings should have been noisy. There should have been meetings, reports, orders. Someone waiting outside the door, holding their breath at the slightest shift in her mood.
But Ena's mornings were different. She was always the first to wake. By the time I arrived at her office door with the initial reports, the faint rustle of turning pages echoed from within. Flip. Flip. The scratch of a quill on paper. The soft clink of a teacup meeting its saucer. And very occasionally, the faint thud of her sword sheath against the wooden desk. That was all.
From dawn, Ena summoned no one. She allowed no unnecessary attendants, stationed no knights. She made no grand preparations to announce her awakening to the entire Geomgye. Dressed neatly in her white Eastern-style garb, her long silver-white hair tied low, she sat in her usual spot, reading the reports. At the desk slightly removed from the window—far enough that the morning light didn't strike her face directly, but close enough to illuminate the documents in her hands. At her waist hung Illyun, the sun slumbering in its black sheath. She looked like someone seated in the brief stillness before war came knocking at the door.
I cherished that morning silence. To me, who served closer to Ena than anyone in the Geomgye, it wasn't mere quiet. It was restraint. The time when one who wielded immense power chose not to wield it. When she who could command the Geomgye's ten squads with a single word instead traced every frontline with her eyes alone, issuing no orders. Ena's silence always carried that weight.
At first, I didn't understand. Why did the Commander-in-Chief remain so quiet every morning? Why did her expression never shift easily, no matter the report? Why did she show no great joy at victory dispatches, no great anger at defeat? But after serving her long enough, I came to see. She was already looking ahead. Where we saw a single battle, Ena saw the war that would follow. Where we saw one casualty report, she saw the wound it would leave on the Geomgye's spirit. Where we saw a lone survivor, she considered whether they could wield a sword on the next battlefield.
After the Eastern Front, I understood even more deeply. Ena had slain the Calamity Entity with just two strikes. She eradicated the magic beast horde, severed the flow of crimson demonic energy, and incinerated even the black crystals of its observation spell. But afterward, her first question wasn't about enemy remnants, war results, or how much her strikes had been observed.
"The fallen."
That single phrase. In that moment, I knew. The battlefield Ena saw was different from ours. We see victory. She sees both the survivors and the lost. We think the Commander-in-Chief's sword ended the field. She first honors the blades that held until her arrival.
Thus, after the Eastern Front, the Geomgye's mornings changed slightly. No—precisely, Ena's mornings changed. She still woke quietly. She still read reports before I even knocked. She still gazed long at the words, numbers, and names without touching her tea. But nowadays, she opened each morning with one question. Always the same.
"Roen."
"Yes. Here it is."
"Has the master of the Holy Sword still not appeared?"
The first time she asked, my reply was delayed. The question was unexpected. The master of the Holy Sword—the prophesied figure long mentioned only in records by the cathedral, the royals, and the Geomgye. The sole blade that could reach the Demon King's heart. Yet it remained undrawn in anyone's hands. I hadn't expected her to make it her first inquiry of the day.
I bowed my head. "Not yet, Commander-in-Chief."
Ena fell silent for a moment. A very brief silence. But in it, I sensed how far her thoughts reached. Her gaze was on the reports on the desk. But what she truly saw was likely not written there. The magic beast horde on the Eastern Front. The observation spell of the Calamity Entity. The Demon King Army's movements. The Holy Sword's master, still absent. And the future we didn't yet know. All of it connected into a single line within the Commander-in-Chief's silence.
"I see."
She murmured lowly. "Not yet."
There was no impatience in her voice. At least, not on the surface. But that day, for the first time, I felt her silence was a touch deeper than usual. She was waiting for the Holy Sword's master. Not merely the prophesied hero. Ena wouldn't lean on anyone like that. She was stronger than anyone. No king of the Humanity Union, no cardinal of the cathedral, no elder of the mage tower, not even a legion commander of the Demon King Army could deny it.
When she drew her sword, the battlefield turned to daylight. When she took a step forward, magic beasts recoiled on instinct. When she grew angry, the Geomgye's ten squads prepared to retreat before even hearing the order. For such a woman to seek the Holy Sword's master—it was no light matter.
I pondered briefly. The official interpretation was that the Holy Sword's master was the key to defeating the Demon King. But Ena seemed to see farther. Defeating the Demon King wouldn't end it. Wars would linger after. Swords grown accustomed to death would remain even after wars ended. And the old tales where the strong die to pave the weak's path would persist.
On the Eastern Front, Ena had said, "Don't cloak it in glory."
Those words still lingered in me. The Geomgye's ancient records called many deaths glorious. Valiant martyrdom. Honorable sacrifice. Blades that endured to the end. Beautiful words. But beautiful words sometimes mask the stench of blood. Who died where. Why they died. If they could have been saved. How to ensure they don't die next time. Those questions get buried.
Ena wouldn't allow it. After that day, I began to think differently about why she sought the Holy Sword's master. She wasn't awaiting a tool for the battlefield. Perhaps—very perhaps—Ena was waiting for a sword of a new era. Not one forged by her death. One that would survive alongside her, growing in a different way. If that was the Holy Sword's master, it made sense why she asked every morning.
Of course, this was just my guess. Ena never easily revealed her inner thoughts. Her words were always short. Short, dry, sometimes overly simple.
"Not yet."
Just that. But from those words, I read much. Waiting. Vigilance. Calculation. And a faint, concealed impatience. What fueled that impatience, I couldn't say. Perhaps the Demon King Army moved faster than expected. Concern that the frontlines might collapse before the Holy Sword's master appeared. Or maybe, like the observation spell on the Eastern Front, the enemy was already preparing a future we didn't know.
I didn't know. How could I presume to grasp the full future Ena envisioned? But one thing I knew: Every morning, she asked the same question. And every morning, she heard the same answer.
"Not yet."
Yet she never stopped asking. It wasn't mere confirmation. She was measuring time. The Demon King Army's movements. The Geomgye's losses. The Holy Sword's silence. The prophecy's delay. And how many times she herself would need to step onto the battlefield. All of it.
"Roen."
She called me again. I straightened immediately.
"Yes, Commander-in-Chief."
"The Eastern Front casualty records."
"Being compiled."
I bowed a little lower. "As you commanded, we're distinguishing between the fallen and the missing, including causes of death, recovery routes, and judgments from each Geomgye squad."
Ena fell silent again. This time, the silence felt a touch softer.
"Don't shorten them."
"Yes."
"Don't reduce them to numbers alone."
My breath caught. Reports were compiled in numbers. Eight dead. Two missing. Twenty-three severe. Numerous minor. That was war's language. Concise, swift, numb. But Ena rejected it.
"Leave their names."
"Yes."
"Their swords too."
I looked up. Ena still gazed at the reports on her desk. Her expression unchanged. But her voice was a fraction lower.
"If no bodies are found, at least return their swords."
My reply nearly faltered. Something heavy settled deep in my chest.
"I shall see it done."
Ena said no more. She merely turned a page with her fingertip. Flip. The rustle of paper sliced the morning air. Outside, the sun hadn't fully risen. The training grounds of Geomgye Headquarters beyond the window lay shrouded in faint dawn light, and from afar came the steady rhythm of the 2nd Squad's morning sword drills. Clack. Clack. The clash of steel on steel. The sound repeated every dawn. Proof the Geomgye still lived.
I watched Ena amid that sound. She sat quietly. White robes. Silver-white hair. Illyun in its black sheath. Morning light seeping through the window. All of it too still. But I knew. Beneath that stillness lay the battlefield. Countless reports. Names of the dead. The Holy Sword's master, yet to appear. The Demon King Army's observation spells. The weight of the future Ena bore alone.
I thought for a moment. Ena's mornings always began quietly. But that quiet wasn't peace. Nor the hush before a storm. It was the silence of one who already knew the storm. Where the winds would rise. Which clouds would break first. The moment to draw her sword. And the moment to keep it sheathed. The silence of she who weighed it all.
I served at her side in that silence. That was my role. And likely, the heaviest duty the Geomgye had entrusted to me.
"Roen."
"Yes."
"Gather the records on the Holy Sword again."
I bowed. "From the royals, cathedral, mage tower, and Geomgye archives—all of them?"
"All."
"Yes."
"And."
Ena paused. Her gaze turned to the window. The dawn not yet fully bright. The sky over Geomgye Headquarters tinged blue, faint gold spreading from the eastern horizon.
Gazing at that light, she said, "When it appears, tell me immediately."
Her voice remained low. But I felt a sharper resolve than usual. Waiting. No. Readiness.
"I shall see it done."
I bowed deeply. In that moment, I was certain. The day the Holy Sword's master appeared, the Geomgye's course would change.