Prologue: The Knight Commander Decides to Desert
The soft rustle of breath filled the tent, the faint glow of a single lantern casting long shadows across the wooden beams.
On the narrow bed inside, a man and a woman clung to each other as if the world might end if they let go.
Blond hair spilled over the broad shoulders of the man with piercing blue eyes. Beside him, the woman with raven hair and the same striking blue eyes pressed her body against his, lips brushing his in a kiss that had long since lost all pretense.
“Haa… haa…”
“Haa…”
Edward Cromwell’s voice was steady, almost bored, as he answered the desperate plea. “I know. Don’t make a fuss.”
He spoke the words with the calm precision of a man who had long since grown tired of theatrics, yet his hands moved with deliberate hunger, tracing the curves of Olivier Hendrick’s body as if memorizing every inch all over again. The passion in his touch went far beyond anything the morning’s blood-soaked battle could explain—raw, possessive, and utterly human.
At that exact moment, their fingers continued their exploration, preparing for an even more intense pleasure yet to come.
Then—
“Sir! General North! Urgent!”
“…”
“Tch…”
The shout shattered the air, crude and unwelcome. Even in the middle of what had been a sweet, heated moment, the two instantly pulled apart, the spell broken.
They both understood the hierarchy too well to ignore it. This was not a drill. This was war.
Within seconds they were dressing, movements efficient and practiced, ready to face whatever storm had arrived at the tent flap.
The flap was yanked open a moment later.
Into the lantern light stepped a young adjutant in full uniform, face pale with urgency. “General North, sir! Urgent report!”
Edward’s voice cut through the tension like chilled steel. “What the hell is going on at this hour? Speak plainly.”
The adjutant bowed deeply, voice shaking only slightly. “Knight Captain Cromwell has deserted. He has ridden out toward the colonial rebel forces. We are to pursue immediately.”
“Cromwell?” Edward’s face twisted. “That bastard defected? To the rebels?”
“Impossible…”
Both men stared at each other, the weight of the words landing like a physical blow.
Neto North’s hand clenched white-knuckled at his side. “Send a full pursuit unit at once. Bring him back alive. He cannot be allowed to join the enemy.”
“Yes, sir!” The adjutant saluted and vanished into the night.
The moment the flap fell, the charged atmosphere collapsed. Edward’s eyes remained cold, but inside his chest something twisted—sharp, unfamiliar, almost… regret.
By the time the sun rose the next morning, the war would never be the same.
Neto North, already in his uniform, turned to Olivier with a cold smile. “It seems our little experiment has been discovered. Still… this is not the end of my plans.”
Olivier’s voice trembled. “Sir… is it possible Sir Cromwell suspected our relationship?”
“Unlikely. Everything was kept secret. There were a few who might have noticed, but nothing concrete.”
She swallowed hard. “Then what caused this?”
“Perhaps my plan leaked. We will find out once we recapture him. Either way, he cannot be allowed to reach the rebels. We end this today.”
He finished buttoning his coat, the weight of command settling over him like armor. Then, quieter, “You have no reason to worry. This might actually be the opportunity to remove that annoying thorn. After this war ends, I was going to deal with him anyway.”
Olivier’s eyes shone with fragile hope. “I… I agree. One way or another, he had to die for us.”
Neto gave a short, humorless laugh. “I only wish I had acted sooner. Now—”
He turned to the adjutant waiting outside. “Prepare the pursuit column. We ride at dawn.”
Olivier watched his retreating back, nails biting into her palms until she drew blood. ‘No… this cannot touch me. The fire cannot reach me. Damn Cromwell. I finally had my golden lifeline. And now I must watch it burn?’
She straightened, jaw set with new resolve. The iron sword at her hip—forged by the man who had once called her “mine”—felt heavier than ever.
“I won’t let you escape again,” she whispered to the empty tent.
*
The night wind howled through the pines as the column thundered eastward.
On the lead horse rode Edward Cromwell, blond hair whipping in the gale, blue eyes calm as still water. At his back sat Olivier, pale and silent, still reeling from the night’s betrayal.
They had not gone far when a woman’s voice rang out from the darkness behind them.
“Halt! Knight Captain Cromwell!”
A young woman in white knight’s armor charged forward on a pure white stallion, surrounded by a dozen soldiers. Her golden hair and golden eyes burned with desperate loyalty.
Edward turned, voice cold and polite. “What is the meaning of this, Adjutant Olivier? If you came to stop me, you’ve wasted your breath.”
Olivier’s voice cracked. “Sir! You cannot desert the Empire! Come back with me. I will explain everything to General North!”
“Explain? You mean tell him I defected so he can finish the job?”
“N-no! I would never—”
The words never finished.
Edward’s sword flashed once, a single, merciless strike. The flat of his blade slammed into Olivier’s stomach with a meaty thud.
“Gah—!”
She tumbled backward off her horse, gasping. The soldiers around her froze, hands trembling on their weapons, but one fierce wave of divine aura from Edward pushed them back.
He dismounted, walked to the crumpled woman, and looked down at her with eyes that held no warmth. “You have done enough already. I have stood by and let you treat me like a fool for far too long. How much have I trusted you?”
“Kuh— I—I didn’t—”
“What? You ate like a whore while I fed you training, glory, and everything else?”
He drew the sword fully, pressing the tip against her throat. The cold steel gleamed under the lantern light. “That look in your eyes now… it’s not the woman I knew. It’s something new. Something dangerous.”
“P-please… Edward…”
“Stay out of my sight. Next time I see you, I will cut your head off and feed it to the rebels.”
With that, he sheathed his blade, mounted his horse, and vanished into the night without a backward glance.
The soldiers who had surrounded him all night simply stood there, mouths open, unable to move. They had served under him for years. They had loved him. But the man who had just ridden away was no longer the Edward Cromwell they knew.
Olivier collapsed to the ground, tears streaming silently. ‘Why… why did it come to this? Sir Cromwell… I loved you… I really did…’
Far ahead, in the distance, Edward looked over his shoulder only once. A faint, translucent window hovered before his eyes—game logs only he could see.
[Quest: Escape the Unwinnable Pursuit Force]
[Status: Complete]
[Reward: +1000 XP | +1 Hidden Skill Slot]
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.
“Just like the game,” he murmured. “The bad ending always had the secret route. Now I’m on it.”
The black horse beneath him broke into a gallop toward the rebel camp, carrying the man who had just burned his old life to the ground.