The Coded Summons
Abel Klarren.
The son of a baron with no territory to his name, utterly insignificant.
Around this time, she was enduring all sorts of torment from Abel. It had only stopped after war broke out and conscription papers arrived.
In other words, she was in for several more years of misery from this bastard.
That was the original timeline, anyway.
"You went on a house call to the nearby count's estate yesterday, right? Help out your poor brother here. If you lend me a big sum, I'll pay back double."
Abel, sprawled on the floor and grinning slyly, flung his arms wide in exaggeration.
It was a stroke of luck they'd rented this rundown building in a forgotten corner because they were broke.
Had it been in the city center, this fool—who couldn't care less about eavesdroppers—would have spread rumors of her true gender throughout the neighborhood with his reckless antics.
"How long do you plan to live like such a pathetic wreck?"
"Oh, pathetic? Your brother here just had a bit of bad luck, that's all. But now that I've reunited with my dear sibling... maybe my fortune's turning?"
A glint of cunning sparked in Abel's bleary eyes.
Even now, he was sharp as a tack when it came to scheming—always in the worst ways.
Abel had lain in wait until she found work, then popped up like a bad penny to bleed her dry.
He'd exploited her house call fees under the guise of "nominal value," then blown it all at the horse tracks and gambling dens in the port city.
Abel's very existence was ironclad proof that she'd stolen his identity, so Ibel had no choice but to hand over the cash.
"That's all the money I've got right now."
Ibel pulled an envelope from the drawer and tossed it over.
Abel snatched it up, sniffed it greedily, and beamed.
"Perfect, perfect. We'll call it square for now. But prep more next time. Time to settle up on those bar tabs I've been running too."
...Should she just shove a pistol in that flapping trap of his?
Clenching her teeth to rein in the impulse that nearly sent her reason packing, she leaned against the window and watched Abel saunter off, chuckling to himself.
"Living out the past exactly as it was would just get him conscripted and dragged off anyway..."
Suddenly, words from the duke on his deathbed echoed in her mind.
"Getting married and being a good husband wouldn't be so bad. Looking after a family... living like everyone else."
Maybe that's why he'd placed such an ad.
Or perhaps God—or whatever force—had granted this miracle to make her try it.
She wasn't particularly religious, but still.
After agonizing over it until sunset, Ibel hauled out her battered travel bag. She packed her tools neatly, then fished out the emergency funds hidden in the secret pocket and counted every coin.
It stung to have yesterday's house call fee snatched away, but she'd always set aside 10% for contingencies like this.
The real issue is... where do I even apply for the ad?
A minor snag was resolved the next day by an ad in the newspaper.
[-.- --- -. .-. .- -.. / …- --- -. / . -… . .-. … - . .. -. . / .-.. .. -.-. …. - . -. / .-.. .. -. -.. . -. … - .-. .- … … . / .---- ..--- . / .--. --- … - -.-. --- -.. . / .---- ----- ----- .---- …--]
The ad section offered no explanation—just the Morse code dumped there, stark and unexplained. So very like him.
Ibel decoded it effortlessly.
"Konrad von Eberstein. Lichten Lindenstrasse 12. Postcode 10013..."
Her gaze lingered on the name "Konrad."
Of course. He's still alive at this point in time.
Now knowing her destination, she resolved to hit the road before Abel could slink back.
She locked the door tight, gripped her bag, and left without a backward glance.
Just as the duke had, she was taking her first step to rewrite her fate.
"Will the person you're looking for really decipher this and show up?"
A few days after the bizarre Bayern ad set the capital ablaze, in the duke's secret capital safehouse.
The duke himself, his most trusted aide Matthias, and the ever-loyal Colonel Konrad von Eberstein.
This hidden retreat—known only to a trusted few—was usually left empty, without even staff.
But today, two shadows stretched long beneath the window.
As sunset painted the sky bloody red, Victor replied quietly.
"She will come."
"Couldn't you at least tell me who she is or where you met? I haven't a clue what's going on. You're supposed to be at the estate publicly, but you rushed to the capital..."
He'd come to meet a comrade who'd survived worse than nightmares.
Even if he could stomach saying something so embarrassing aloud, no one would believe the truth anyway.
"No."
Cutting off his aide's whining, Victor turned his eyes to the sawgrass and dandelions lining the road.
A few minutes later, someone emerged from the swaying, indifferent thicket.
Platinum hair shimmering in the eerie sunset glow. Long, thin lashes framing full lips.
And amber eyes that evoked the midsummer sun.
Every time he saw her gritting her teeth amid the falling ash, fighting to save lives, the same thought struck him.
That he might get pulled right in.
She's really here.
Victor's brief thought ended as Matthias erupted in fuss.
"Whoa! Someone's actually coming! But... it's a boy? Short hair and all!"
"Escort them in politely."
"Y-yes, sir!"
Matthias scrambled downstairs in a panic, leaving Victor to wait calmly.
Ordinary folk couldn't read Morse code. Only those tied to the military could.
There was a risk of exposing the safehouse, but once the goal was met, they'd abandon it anyway.
It wasn't wartime now.
Reuniting with Abel was worth more than a single safehouse.
Besides, the code in the paper wasn't standard Morse.
It was a custom system devised by the Bayern forces during the war.
They're probably scrambling to crack it everywhere by now.
It wouldn't be easy.
Not when it was invented by a soldier with terrifying talent for ciphers.
"Hello. I'm here to apply for the Contract Duchess position."
The voice from the open door was steady and serene. Victor nearly smiled at the ever-flat tone.
Despite not being one to laugh often.
"At this point, you shouldn't be able to read Morse code. A mere doctor wouldn't know the Bayern forces' cipher."
"......"
"I'd have tried another method if you hadn't come. But no need now."
"It's been a while, Your Grace."
A voice like cool autumn air, summoning fall amid the swelter.
Victor turned slowly, taking in the figure—far thinner and more fragile than in his memories.
Sunset light seeped in from the pant leg upward, bathing her in warm reddish-brown.
As she strode forward confidently, memories he couldn't shake roared back to life.
"I could scarcely believe it for a full day. Were you the same?"
"Yes. Seeing Your Grace return safely... it seems I'm not entirely mad after all."
They'd died tangled together, returned to the past at the same moment.
No dream, no hallucination.
What better proof than each other?
"Bayern Autonomous Legion, Medical Corps Lieutenant Abel Klarren. Reporting safe return."
Her salute—right fist clenched over her left breast—was unique to the Bayern Autonomous Legion.
Out of 50,000, only twelve had survived to the end.
She was one who'd held the front line until the last.
This works.
Ibel murmured inwardly as she raised her glass.