Little T. Franklin's Secret Toast and Cromwell's Hidden Quest
The rebel garrison was still buzzing with the afterglow of victory, voices raised in raucous laughter and clinking tankards as soldiers passed around bottles of stolen wine. "Come on! Drink up! Drink up!" they cheered, voices thick with relief and relief-fueled bravado. "Heh... how long has it been since I've actually gotten drunk?" one grizzled veteran slurred, taking a long swig. "Tonight, we drink until we forget the pain," another declared, raising his glass high. "For the rebel cause! To victory!"
They had little reason to celebrate. Scarcely more than a handful of supplies had been left behind after months of starvation rations, and the garrison had been on the verge of collapse. But the sudden raid had netted mountains of captured provisions—enough to turn a desperate night into something resembling a proper feast. The empire's hasty retreat had left behind everything: siege engines, ammunition, food, even the tents. What the rebels hadn't used, they had abandoned in their flight, and now that abundance was theirs to revel in. The wine, especially, tasted sweeter because it had been taken from the enemy. One swallow and the long months of mental and physical exhaustion began to melt away.
At the same time, far from the revelry in the lower courtyard...
I stood alone on the ramparts of Fort Stanwick, one hand resting on the cold stone parapet, the other idly tracing the edge of a forgotten map. The night air was sharp, carrying the distant scent of pine and the faint metallic tang of spent gunpowder. My eyes scanned the darkness beyond the walls, but my mind was elsewhere—on the glowing blue window that had only appeared for me, the one no one else could see.
[Your outstanding performance has secured victory for the rebel forces.
The rebels now recognize you as their true ally.
Armed with this newfound trust, you can begin planning your revenge against the Empire.]
I let out a long, slow breath, the tension in my shoulders easing for the first time in weeks. A genuine smile tugged at my lips. I had climbed a mountain of difficulty, and I had climbed it successfully. For once, the system had not betrayed me.
Before I could savor the moment, however, another window materialized before my eyes, the text shimmering with an otherworldly blue light.
[You once served the Britain Empire loyally. Now you have become part of the rebel army.
Complete the revolution alongside those who have endured the Empire's tyranny.
New forces and new heroines will aid you.
Your goal: Drive the imperial army from this land and secure full independence for the rebels.]
I stared at the notification, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across my face. "As I expected... but it's actually going smoothly."
I had suspected the shift the moment I joined the rebels, but this confirmation felt different—final, undeniable. Especially the part about the heroines. In the original game, they had always been off-limits, sworn enemies on the rebel side. Now the system was rewriting the rules.
"This is going to be interesting," I murmured, my mind already racing through the possibilities.
* * *
"Commander Cromwell."
I turned, and there she was—Little T. Franklin, General of the rebel garrison, standing at the top of the stairs like she had been summoned by the very air. Her flowing blue hair caught the moonlight, framing a face of breathtaking beauty. The deep blue of her eyes never wavered, and her military robes were immaculate, the insignia of an ice mage still glinting faintly at her throat.
"General Franklin."
I gave her a crisp nod, the formal salute of a subordinate meeting his superior. "What brings you up here at this hour?"
Her voice was the same cool, authoritative tone she used in front of the entire garrison. "Everyone is celebrating inside. What are you doing out here alone, Commander?"
She tilted her head slightly, the gesture almost playful despite the icy formality. It was the same tone a strict captain might use to scold a private for skipping duty. "Aren't you drinking? Aren't you always drinking?"
I chuckled softly. "I've been thinking about the next battle. We've been pushed back, but they still outnumber us by several times. They can't launch an immediate assault, but that doesn't mean they won't try something desperate. I was weighing our options."
"Indeed." A faint note of admiration threaded through her words—genuine respect, perhaps, or maybe just the careful mask she wore. "Always diligent, even in this. I respect that."
She stepped closer, close enough that the scent of frost and something faintly sweet drifted around her. Without another word, she sat down on the stone bench beside me, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
"Then tell me, Commander," she began, voice dropping to that same crisp military register, "what do you think the enemy will do?"
I kept my expression neutral, but inside I was already replaying the quest details I had received. "They probably won't attack head-on. The siege engines are destroyed, supplies are running low, and morale is at rock bottom. They still don't know exactly how many of us are here. They'll wait for reinforcements."
"Reinforcements..." She hummed thoughtfully. "The main force under General Burgoyne, then? Eight thousand men?"
"Exactly. They're due within two weeks. They'll probably raid the nearby villages to restock while avoiding a full engagement."
"Eight thousand..." I let out a slow breath. "Our reinforcements are only about seven thousand. The numbers are close, but the quality still favors them."
"They are strong." Franklin's tone never wavered, yet I could feel the subtle shift in her posture—her ice mage's power humming just beneath her skin. "The only way to turn the tide is to bring in as many local militiamen as we can. Quantity to offset quality."
"Any ideas on how to do that?"
She paused, studying me for a long moment. The question hung between us like frost on glass. "I don't have an answer yet... but if I sense the first sign, I will tell you."
"I see." I nodded once. "Then we wait."
She regarded me for a long second, the icy mask slipping just enough for a faint, almost affectionate warmth to touch her eyes. "Then let's talk no more of war for now. You should go inside and join the others. Drink a toast in their honor."
I opened my mouth to protest—I had more planning to do—but she cut me off gently.
"You've earned the right to rest, Commander. The more tired you become, the harder it will be to think clearly. Especially for someone as important as you."
There was no argument in her tone, only quiet conviction. I had no escape route. No way out of this one.
"...Thank you, General."
"Good. Then follow me."
She rose smoothly, already turning toward the stairs. At the top step, however, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder. Her voice had lost its usual coolness, becoming almost hesitant.
"And... since we're doing this, how about we have a drink somewhere else? Just the two of us. I've... I've been wanting to try the wine you gave me."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I—I don't like loud parties! But drinking alone like this feels wrong. Since we're here, just follow me! This... this is an order."
She was trying to sound stern, but the way her cheeks flushed betrayed her. I remembered the drunken kiss from months ago, the memory still vivid even after all this time. I couldn't say no to her now.
"...Very well. I understand."
The walk to my quarters was short, but the silence between us felt heavier than the entire garrison combined. When we stepped inside, the room was dim and warm, lit only by a single oil lamp. Franklin stood just inside the doorway, hands clasped behind her back, looking almost nervous.
"Here," I said, pouring two glasses of the rich, dark wine I had been saving for a special occasion.
She took the glass with both hands, as if it were fragile. "Thank you, Commander."
We drank in silence at first. Then she lifted her glass.
"To victory," I offered.
"To victory," she echoed, and took a long sip.
The wine burned pleasantly down my throat. Franklin's eyes sparkled as she set her glass down.
"You know," she said softly, "this wine really is excellent. I haven't had something like it in a long time."
I leaned back against the table, watching her. "Then maybe we should do this more often."
She smiled—small, private, and just a little unsteady. "Maybe we should."
* * *
I watched her from across the room, the familiar weight of her presence settling around me like a second blanket. The girl who had once commanded an entire fortress with nothing but ice and ice mages was now blushing like a schoolgirl while trying to drink me under the table.
"Commander Cromwell," she said, voice suddenly soft, "can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
Her fingers tightened around the glass. "That day... when I got drunk... did you really... kiss me?"
My pulse kicked once, hard. "Yes."
She looked away, cheeks burning crimson. "I... I remember. I shouldn't have. But I can't stop thinking about it."
I set my own glass down and stepped closer. "Then stop thinking about it. Start feeling about it instead."
She laughed—soft, breathless, and exactly the sound I had been craving. "You bastard. You always know exactly what to say."
I reached out and brushed a stray lock of blue hair from her face. "Then say yes to one more thing."
She looked up at me, eyes wide and sparkling. "What?"
"Drink one more toast with me. Just us. For the rebellion. For us."
Her smile widened, slow and certain. "Deal."
The lamp flickered as we clinked glasses again, and for the first time in weeks, I felt something dangerously close to hope.
The quest windows still hovered at the edges of my vision, but for now, I didn't care. Revenge could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I had a beautiful ice mage who had decided to share my bed, and a future that suddenly felt very, very possible.
