The Promise
"Swen…?"
It seemed Serpina had called my name—
but I could not bring myself to hear her voice.
The destiny of continental unification will pass to the Serpina Army.
Serpina von Aingart cannot unify the continent.
What those two absolute answers meant was brutally simple.
The one seated upon the throne of the Serpina Army—or rather, of this vast northern nation destined to become a unified state—would not be Serpina.
I could not imagine her abdicating of her own will. That left only one conclusion.
—Serpina von Aingart would lose her life.
Wait…
Something I had never once considered had just become reality, and I felt my legs begin to tremble of their own accord.
Still—I needed to sort this out carefully.
I could not confirm it without a direct question, but as it had always been until now, the destiny of the unifying sovereign most likely still rested with Lady Luna.
But if Serpina died, that destiny would reverse.
And a reversal meant that the one who currently held that fate would be driven away from it.
In other words—
If Serpina died, then Lady Luna…
Lunarien Iniang, who had clutched the destiny of the unifying sovereign in both hands—
…would no longer be able to unify the continent.
If Serpina died, the world would slip from Lunarien's grasp.
The final condition for her unification was none other than—
"…"
The golden-haired woman staring at me in stunned silence.
Serpina von Aingart herself.
How could this be…
Honestly, living beside her in this place, the question had never left me.
How could a nation that looked this perfect fail to achieve unification?
Her generals were not individually exceptional, yet there were a great many of them—and precisely because they were not exceptional, their loyalty ran all the deeper. And she was a supremely capable sovereign who knew exactly how to control them.
In dealing with her subordinates, she did not rely on some private, self-serving standard of her own, but on criteria that applied universally to all. She drew close those who deserved closeness and kept at a distance those who did not, steadily cultivating a talent pool that was relatively outstanding given what she had to work with.
No matter how obscure a name, she never dismissed anyone lightly; she always listened. Any general under her command could, at least once, request a private audience with their sovereign.
Considering that her nation was the largest power on the continent, that was no small thing.
There was only one person who wore the crown—only one sovereign—and that was her.
The widest territory. The greatest population. The entire infrastructure of the northern continent, including the former imperial capital, absorbed into her domain. The red team on a host-rigged map.
And on top of that, an overwhelming legitimacy of bloodline that outstripped every other claimant.
Even if her life had been paved with infamy—
ask any child on the street, and you would hear without difficulty that Serpina was destined to become the new master of this continent.
But I—
I alone knew the truth.
Only I knew that she could never become the unifying sovereign.
Why? Why had fate raised the hand of Lunarien, a woman who had lost everything, instead of Serpina, a woman who possessed it all?
And the reason turned out to be nothing other than Serpina's existence itself.
Because she was the sovereign of this nation, her nation could never become a unified state.
The moment she stepped down from the throne, this country would inherit the destiny of unification. That alone confirmed the inference was correct.
What a cruel irony.
First… calm down.
The sheer weight of that revelation threatened to crush me flat—
but right now I had to pull myself together somehow and finish the conversation with the woman standing before me.
Then—
"Swen. Have you composed yourself?"
"…Ah."
I looked toward the voice—
and there she was. My lord, Serpina von Aingart, watching me with an expression I had never once seen on her face.
"Forgive me. I… felt a sudden spell of dizziness. It shames me to admit it, but as you can see, my body is not particularly robust…"
"I understand. Take your time answering. Do not force yourself, Swen."
The way she spoke—if anything, she was worried about me.
Genuine concern clouded the face of a woman who had always carried an untouchable charisma.
So Serpina was capable of an expression like that, too.
"…I am grateful for my lord's kindness."
I drew a slow breath and ordered the situation once more in my mind.
If—
if my purpose were still what it had been when I first possessed this body—to become a general under a unified nation and burn through time as quickly as possible—then what I needed to do was extremely simple.
Encourage the woman who already seemed so elated.
She trusted me deeply enough to invoke the name of the Mind's Eye. If I earnestly requested it, she would almost certainly agree.
No—I would not even need to request it earnestly. The idea of going herself had been Serpina's own suggestion from the start.
And the reward that absolute prediction guaranteed was far too certain: our forces seizing the destiny of continental unification.
In that current of fate, the woman born never to be a victor would die, a new figure would ascend the throne, and the continent would at last be unified. I would naturally become part of that unified nation and return safely to my original world.
There had never been any condition that a particular sovereign had to be the one to achieve unification for me to go home.
But—
I made a promise… to her. To my lord.
That day.
The final day of the Lunarien Army, when no action of any kind could alter the fate of defeat at the hands of the Brans Army.
I still remembered those trembling red eyes, welling with tears as she looked at me in that empty royal palace.
No matter how absurd the things I said, one after another—
even when I stubbornly insisted that I was right without a shred of proof, she had been the only one who willingly believed me.
I remembered the promise I had whispered to her.
To believe someone was not merely the literal meaning of the words.
It was the same as entrusting one's life.
Neither Lin nor Yuuri had ever given me that. Only Luna had.
And I… had promised her that if she believed in me, I would place the world in her hands.
So—
I can never betray the woman who trusted me no matter what.
And that was not the only reason.
In any case, I wanted to avoid an ending in which the woman before me—Serpina—met a violent death.
Was that simple pity, or…
There's no need to think any further.
I could not betray Luna. That left me only one choice.
The most critical piece of Lunarien Iniang's unification—
Serpina von Aingart had to live.
"My lord."
"Speak."
"Regarding what you proposed—that is, going in person… there is a possibility it could produce an unfavorable result for our forces."
"…An unfavorable result?"
"Yes."
The clearer my purpose of keeping Serpina alive became—
the more swiftly the shock of that devastating truth settled into a remarkable calm.
Now it was time to persuade the woman before me.
"I agree that, as you said, it could deliver a greater shock to the interior of the Brans Army… but it could also give rise to a wave of public sympathy for Lin Brans. No matter how many misjudgments she has repeated, no matter how incomprehensible her alliances may be—witnessing one's own sovereign swallow humiliation with one's own eyes is bound to be profoundly jarring."
"Sympathy… A fair point."
"In this case, leave it to the natural course of things. Even if we do nothing further, the smoke of suspicion, once lit, will take on a life of its own inside the Brans Army and continue to circulate through their ranks. I believe my lord should avoid moving in person."
"…"
Serpina listened, sank into thought—
and then slowly nodded.
"…I see. So We, too, must exercise restraint."
"I would never dare presume to say such a thing to my lord—"
"No, Swen. I thank you for the counsel. However."
Serpina fixed her gaze squarely on me.
For the briefest instant, I thought I saw her pupils tremble.
"Calling them here instead—that much should be acceptable, should it not?"
"By 'them,' you mean… the Brans Army?"
"Indeed. Nothing is more efficient for spreading word of an alliance across the continent than a face-to-face meeting."
In other words, Serpina intended to use her own image as a tyrant to isolate the Brans Army?
Nothing spread rumor more easily than a personal meeting, after all.
The distant nations of the southern continent were one thing—but Lin was in the central continent. Joining hands with Serpina would deliver a shock of an entirely different magnitude to her own territorial subjects.
It was not a bad idea.
Moreover, folding in the precondition of a direct meeting might even lend further credibility to the conclusions Serpina and I had drawn.
Watching Serpina sink back into thought after finishing her reply—
I quietly entered the question once more.
The new precondition this time: the Brans Army coming to us.
Is forming an alliance with the Brans Army efficient for our forces?
It is an efficient alliance that presents a great opportunity for our forces.
…It's back.
The same counsel I had first received was displayed again.
Not only that—it was identical to the original answer.
Which meant—
The inference that the Brans Army's interior will be shaken is about ninety-nine percent true.
If, as before, some strange butterfly effect had been producing a benefit for our forces, changing the precondition should have changed the conclusion.
That it remained the same meant things would unfold exactly as I had reasoned.
I left a one-percent margin just in case, but I could rest easy.
I exhaled a quiet breath of relief.
Here, in the Serpina Army, what I had to do had become perfectly clear.
Until the day the Lunarien Army once more stepped onto the stage of history—I would protect Lady Serpina.
No matter what happened. Absolutely.
I would shield Lady Serpina from the danger of death.
With the absolute predictions of Intelligence 100, I was confident I could manage it somehow.
Had I not already pulled off far more difficult things without breaking stride?
Right. Whatever it takes, it'll still be easier than calling down a meteor.
Before Serpina, still lost in thought, I bowed my head—
and offered my lord words that could never reach her.
My lord. I will find you. Without fail. I will keep my promise. Please—stay well until then.
After Swen had gone, Serpina remained alone in the empty annex.
On the table sat a glass filled with wine that was not particularly expensive.
A faint flush colored her cheeks from the alcohol as she sat in her chair and recalled the Swen of moments before.
Swen…
They had been speaking smoothly when his expression had suddenly, drastically changed.
And then… he had said this.
He called me… Lady Serpina.
The man who, ever since becoming her subordinate, had always addressed her as "my lord"—had, in a daze, simply referred to her as Lady Serpina.
Swen had been trembling faintly, wearing an expression she had never once seen before, so thoroughly startled.
Coming out under those circumstances, the words had felt almost like—
an unconscious truth slipping free.
Her heart had grown so tangled that she had been unable to study his face carefully.
The conversation itself had gone well, yet a knot she could not put into words had formed inside her chest.
Swen. The person who lives in your heart… who is it?
Someone other than herself?
And that was not the only thing that troubled her.
Serpina could not shake the feeling that Swen's true aim had been less about the outcome of the alliance itself than about preventing her from moving in person.
After all, he had agreed to having them come here.
If the concern was that sympathy must not be allowed to take root, should he not have rejected that as well?
Something similar had happened not long ago.
When he had argued for the defense of Amir Castle, it had felt less as though the fortress itself needed protecting and more as though the mere presence of troops there was what mattered.
Did he have some other hidden motive this time as well?
She could not begin to read his heart.
Serpina dragged a fingernail along the rim of her wine glass.
She had been so certain she would make him hers.
Today, she sensed that the heart she had believed would never waver was, in fact, beginning to tremble.
Swen…
Serpina thought.
She wished he would wear that expression with her—and no one else—carved into his heart.
Was that merely the desire every sovereign felt toward an outstanding general? Or was it…
She mixed the unanswerable question into her wine and swallowed it whole.
The wine that slid down her throat was bitterly bitter.