Live On, Abel
Ibel, who knew the duke sometimes pulled these silly pranks, shook her head to brush it off with an air of annoyance.
"To dodge the draft."
Every word out of Ibel's mouth was the product of meticulous calculation. To keep her true identity hidden, she wove half-truths with half-lies.
From what she'd heard, Victor Bayern was a master of psychological warfare and torture alike. Back in the previous king's reign, he'd headed the national intelligence bureau, so he'd undergone that kind of training.
Either way, she'd decided from the start not to bother with clumsy lies that wouldn't fool him—instead, she'd lace them with enough truth.
"So I came in my brother's place. A military doctor seemed more useful, after all."
"I see."
Victor Bayern offered no further comment on her family situation.
Heavy lips are one of this man's virtues, Ibel thought as she gazed up at the night sky.
No matter that it was spring—temperatures varied by region.
This barren land grew chilly after sunset. Even her jacket, weighed down with medals, felt precious now.
"What family are you from, again?"
"Commoner."
Ibel answered curtly.
Doctors were typically from the gentry or low nobility, so they usually had family names.
But she stubbornly kept hers hidden.
A damned family like that is better off forgotten anyway.
Of course, if the duke wanted to know, he'd quickly uncover that her house of Klarren was fallen nobility.
He'd learn she had one son and one daughter—and no second son.
But she didn't think he'd care enough to bother.
Besides... she had to survive first before any of that mattered.
"Planning to marry when you get back?"
The unexpected question twisted Ibel's face into a strange grimace. Yet the duke's expression across from her was oddly nuanced.
Still impassive and calm, but his jawline had tensed ever so slightly.
Startled, Ibel shot back defensively, sharply.
"Marriage? In a world where just keeping myself alive is a struggle?"
"I see."
"Wait—no. Would you give a generous wedding gift if I did?"
"I'll consider it."
Victor lifted the corner of his mouth in a handsome smile at her half-joking quip.
It was the kind of smile that could make anyone think they were at a ballroom instead of a battlefield.
"Live on, then, Abel."
"I hope Your Excellency returns safely as well."
Ibel had used the name 'Abel' from the start.
It was her twin brother's name.
Abel and Ibel.
Couldn't have been easier to name us without even trying.
Every time she recalled her own name, it reminded her how indifferent her parents had been.
No wonder they didn't notice I'd run away for a whole week.
Ibel had cut her hair short the moment she'd scraped together enough money to leave home and headed straight for the Royal Saint Elven Medical University.
If she'd failed the entrance exam, her life would've gone straight to hell—but astonishingly, she'd passed. And graduated top of her class.
Her family only realized she'd run away after she moved into the dorms. They sent people after her but couldn't drag her back.
The Royal Saint Elven Medical University, with its fierce competition, had no intention of letting go of its perfect-scoring entrant. They dismissed her family's protests about stolen identity as nonsense.
I was grateful to that greedy dean. Even if it dragged me to the battlefield...
Can I survive this place?
Ibel let out a wry chuckle at the futile thought.
I know I'm going to die, but facing it for real is still terrifying.
"And if Your Excellency survives by some miracle, what then?"
"Hmm. Maybe I'll learn woodworking. Back when I knew nothing, I once asked my mother why I couldn't become a carpenter."
Duke Bayern of House Bayern, hauling logs and working as a carpenter.
It was so mismatched she couldn't help but snicker.
"Or marriage wouldn't be so bad. Being a good husband, tending to a family... living like everyone else."
"And then?"
"My nephews in the territory come to mind. I left them with my aunt and haven't done right by them."
His bitter smile twisted into something frightening the instant he spotted the glint of light overhead.
"Down!"
BOOM!
A deafening roar tore through the air, shattering her eardrums.
And then... shells rained down like a storm amid the flash.
"Still alive?"
The man who had enveloped her with his massive frame asked quietly.
Ibel answered by vomiting up a gush of blood.
Riiiing—
A piercing tinnitus rattled her skull. Even breathing hurt, and blood kept pouring from her mouth.
"Easy now. You're fine."
Nothing was fine.
Yet hearing his usual low, serene voice made her want to believe it anyway. As if it really was okay.
"Your Excellency...!"
"You've got strength left to shout. Good."
Regaining her wits with effort, Ibel clutched her burning throat and lifted her gaze.
She remembered the moment the bombardment hit—he hadn't hesitated a second before pulling her into his arms to shield her. If she was this bad off despite that...
What must his condition be?
Gasping ragged breaths, her eyes fell on his broad back, soaked in blood.
His always-pristine uniform was shredded, flesh torn away in chunks.
And a red shard of shrapnel had pierced straight through his chest—into her as well.
"You could've dodged if you were alone."
"Didn't I say it? Losing our only doctor would be a problem."
His dark blue eyes met hers steadily, masking the pain.
"Stop the bleeding... stop the..."
He finally retched up blood himself.
Splattered with it, Ibel forced her arm up.
"Save your strength. It's too late."
That dog of a king. Damn pride-fueled war.
All because Franche's king mocked Richter's—and sparked this mess.
Ibel pressed down hard on his chest, cursing enough to get her neck stretched for treason.
As if it might delay death's arrival, even a little.
Truth be told... she was leaning on him too.
In this place where everyone lost themselves to madness, Victor Bayern alone seemed from another world.
His chiseled jaw, steadfast gaze, quiet voice—enough to command reverence.
But it wasn't his looks that set him apart.
He never faltered.
Ironclad discipline, perfect restraint.
He never spoke rashly, never bared his emotions easily.
Even as countless drowned in blood and hate, Victor Bayern never lost his humanity.
He memorized every lowly soldier's name, never complained in a leaking tent. Ibel had always thought him unreal.
So she'd never imagined he'd die like this.
I thought he'd at least make it back.
"You have to live. So this... never happens again..."
Another earth-shattering boom rang out, deafening her.
And then... it seemed everything was over.
......He opened his eyes to a familiar ceiling.
Not the dank, moldy tent reeking of blood—but the manor in Bayern territory where he'd grown up.
The mural of the grand saintess and angels on the study ceiling captured the man's gaze.
Impossible. Victor Bayern murmured lowly.
How many had he killed in the war? Enough corpses to build mountains. Heaven wasn't where he belonged in death.
Yet the old gardener's squabble with the servant drifting in from the window, the faint peach scent in the air—it all felt so convincingly real. Enough to make him want to believe this was reality.
What of Abel? The other officers?
Confusion swirled.
Lifting his thick arm to his forehead, he realized he wasn't in uniform.
The thin muslin shirt, sheer enough to see through—it was what he favored in summer.
Too vivid and lingering for a hallucination or dying dream.