Chapter 19
Chapter 19
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: The Delayed Colonel
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Arthur and Dever were waiting for an unwelcome guest.
"Colonel Bottom is late."
Arthur threw out the comment, but Dever offered no real response, merely tilting his whiskey glass. There was no sign of irritation at the colonel for being late to the meeting, nor any displeasure toward the emperor who had promptly attached one of his own confidants as if anticipating the operation's failure.
He simply turned the glass lazily with that infuriatingly serene expression. He gave it a slight tilt, as if offering Arthur a drink, but Arthur shook his head.
"This is getting messy."
Arthur's low murmur revealed his unease without restraint—his leg trembled faintly beneath the table.
Bottom made his entrance just as Dever was draining his second glass. The colonel arrived with a boisterous grin plastered on his face.
"Whoops! Forgive my tardiness."
Arthur muttered a quiet curse under his breath at that cheeky greeting.
"Sit."
At Arthur's curt command, Bottom's beady eyes flicked toward the two men before him. Dever didn't even glance at the newcomer, busying himself with pouring from the bottle.
Ahem. Even at Bottom's deliberate fake cough, Dever kept his head down. Bottom's jowls, as droopy as his greed, twitched in annoyance.
Arthur watched the pathetic display with cold eyes.
It was called a coalition force, but Britain was little more than a vassal state of Nexus. They couldn't compare to Nexus in industry, economy, or culture—but the reason they were part of the coalition rather than just another army under Nexus's thumb was simple.
Because they were the homeland of Vestia, the current emperor's mother and the late empress.
Everyone knew the empress had married the previous emperor under the pretext of fostering international friendship, but in truth, it was a voluntary surrender to avoid a hopeless war.
Britain's loyalty to the empress, who was unloved by the emperor, had naturally transferred to her only son, Prince Hoyden.
What better backing could there be for the perpetually anxious prince? The fact that he'd swiftly dispatched what was essentially the emperor's personal guard—the Britain army—under the pretext of Dever's failed operation made his intentions obvious.
"I hope Duke Cliff is well."
Bottom clung to his flimsy pride, insisting on addressing Dever as "duke."
He wouldn't dare tangle with Arthur, who was royalty, but Dever? Britain might be smaller than Nexus, but he himself was a prince and duke there.
To the distrustful Hoyden, Britain was no different. The emperor had never granted any Britain officer a rank above colonel, precisely to ensure they couldn't plot rebellion under the guise of imperial favor. That proved it.
Bottom couldn't stomach that Dever outranked him militarily. So here he was, slithering up with petty jabs.
"Britain's a fine country."
Dever's cryptic remark left both Bottom and Arthur puzzled—did he even grasp the provocation?
Dever downed his last glass with his usual impassive look. In the silent tent, the sound of whiskey sliding down his throat and ice clinking in the glass built a strange tension.
His downcast gray eyes stared at nothing in particular, but everyone knew exactly who that disdainful gaze was aimed at.
"In Nexus, we don't let tardy colonels live."
Bottom rolled his eyes, wondering if his gulp had been too loud. His fat fingers fidgeted, betraying his nerves—the same hands that had been so bold moments ago now looked ridiculous.
Arthur bit his lip hard. So that's why he's holding back. In the end, it was a warning: If you were Nexus, you'd be dead by my hand. I'm only sparing you because you're coalition.
Bottom, who'd been probing Dever's limits, couldn't miss the implication. At least he wasn't that stupid—not enough to fail to grovel when he should.
"My apologies. It took time to assemble the troops after arriving at the front."
As if arriving days ago excused that lame excuse. Dever finally looked at the idiot puppet before him—and thought of the damn shadow pulling his strings: the emperor.
At this late stage of the war, what was one annoying mutt trailing him?
Dever nodded coolly.
"Tell me your plan."
Surprised by the milder response than expected, Bottom peeked up from his bowed head to gauge the mood. He'd gotten lucky.
Bottom spread the tank blueprints on the side table.
"Britain has developed a new tank. If the Imperial Army advances on the left flank from the front, I'll lead the Britain forces in an assault on the right. It'll be a feint battle, essentially. They'll think your First Army under General Dever is Nexus's elite vanguard—so we'll hit them where it hurts."
Arthur let out a hollow chuckle that faded into the air.
Wasn't that too blatant? Nexus—no, Dever would draw fire while Britain scooped up the glory.
"His Majesty entrusted this operation to me."
Whose emperor was Hoyden, anyway? Holding Nexus troops hostage to steal the credit for Britain?
Better to give no credit to Dever than to anyone...
"Hoyden..."
Arthur swallowed a groan but couldn't hold back the name.
Why stoop so low?
"A solid plan."
"What?"
Arthur exploded at the words from Dever, who'd been silently listening to what barely qualified as a plan.
Dever's expression was deadly serious. Coming from that face, "solid plan" sounded utterly convincing.
"Let's run the numbers with Arthur. Use the time to get the coalition fully assembled."
Bottom was more shocked than Arthur at the unexpected praise from the man he'd braced for nitpicking. So the rumors were true: Dever Cliff was just a war maniac with no interest in glory.
The moment the beaming Bottom left, Arthur slammed the table.
"What the hell was that?"
"I get it."
"You're going with that tactic?"
"Why not?"
Swallowing a surge of curses, Arthur clenched his fist tight.
"Right now. The emperor. Is throwing you-"
"Into the fire, right."
Dever finished his clipped words, whether out of patience or not.
Arthur fell silent, the words hitting too close. Moments like this brought a crushing loneliness. The emperor saw him and Dever as allies; Dever saw royals as such.
But I don't belong anywhere.
"Don't worry."
Dever's voice was far too relaxed.
"We'll make it out alive."
Arthur stared heavily at Dever, who even flashed a faint smile—heaven knew what he was thinking.
"The phone lines."
"Ah, still under repair!"
The soldier's shoulders tensed at the sudden arrival of the army commander and the overall commander.
"Damn Kovah bastards."
Despite the curse aimed at the enemy, it was the poor communications officer sweating bullets.
When Operation Dawn failed, the follow-up reserves had prevented disaster, but the position's phone lines were wrecked. The silver lining: the nearby field hospital's lines were intact.
Dever's steps turned toward the forest path leading to the hospital.
"Who're you calling?"
Dever stayed silent even as they entered the hospital and headed to the director's office with the phone.
"Not even a peep. What, calling your girlfriend?"
"Maybe."
Dever shrugged lightly, and Arthur recoiled in disgust.
"Don't even joke. It's creepier than if you were serious."
Arthur slumped onto the sofa in resignation. A faint scratchy connection tone echoed from the receiver.
"Colonel Gail, I need you here."
"Dever!"
Arthur shot up at the name and snatched the receiver.
"What're you thinking?"
"Weren't you in the ops meeting?"
"Exactly! You just said Bottom's plan was good."
"Oh, that."
Dever chuckled softly.
"I was kidding."
Arthur exhaled heavily. So that's what he was up to.
"Defying an imperial order means summary execution."
He'd long known Dever feared no emperor, but that didn't mean they should antagonize him.
It was the bare minimum to protect his friend—and ease his own guilt as the emperor's eyes.
"Dead here or dead there."
"That's your answer...?"
Drained by the flippant reply, Arthur sagged. Meanwhile, Dever took back the receiver.
"Gail, you heard me. Come at once."
Their bickering didn't stop as they hung up and descended the stairs. To be precise, it was Arthur's one-sided rant.
Don't act on your own; convince Bottom instead; if not, I'll contact the emperor—he poured out every idea, but Dever met it with silence.
"The duke's coming. Duke's coming."
Dixie whispered conspiratorially beside Beth, who was finishing her logs.
The self-proclaimed "handsome detector" always alerted those around when Arthur or Dever approached, like an alarm.
Same as always.
Beth's gaze followed Dixie's words to the man striding straight down the hall.
Not the casually dressed Dever from last night—this was the empire's terror incarnate. Gold buttons gleamed up to his throat, his navy uniform flawless.
From Arthur's grim expression, they seemed deep in serious talk.
Another battle?
As he neared, the itch in her bandaged hand returned.
That's why it feels like bad luck.
At the intrusive memory, Beth buried her nose in her logbook. She half-worried he'd say something weird in front of everyone.
But her worry was unfounded—Dever walked right past her.
Beth jabbed her pen into the logbook corner, lifting her bowed head. Of course, she had no reason to greet Duke Dever.
Showing up unannounced, talking whenever he pleased...
Beth gathered her log and charts. In her sudden embarrassment, she headed upstairs, but Aines grabbed her.
"Beth, you got mail."
Mail?
A bundle of letters dropped with a thud, scattering across the floor.
"That surprised you? You've never gotten any since nursing school—I always felt bad. Good for you."
Aines handed over the letters with a bright smile.
"From your parents, looks like."
Beth stared blankly at the envelope Aines offered. Her hand began to tremble. "Beth Jens" was written clearly on it.
No way. It can't be. Please don't let it be.
Oblivious, Aines pressed a letter opener into Beth's hand. Fumbling to open it, she mangled the neat envelope.
And from within peeked a yellowed sheet that hardly passed for stationery.
Please, no. Please.
Beth, it's your uncle.
Her worst fear was confirmed.
Beth fainted on the spot.