Please Take Good Care of Me
"3rd Platoon, a new deputy platoon leader will be arriving, so assemble everyone in the barracks after lunch."
The 3rd Platoon soldiers swallowed dryly the moment they heard the order. It's here. The princess. The baby princess, much younger than the princes. For such a figure to join as deputy platoon leader! It was like a massive storm rolling into their military life.
The platoon members' gazes naturally turned to 3rd Squad Leader Aldric Lowell.
"W-Why are you all staring at me like that?"
"Squad Leader, you graduated from the Imperial Academy, right? So you must've seen Her Highness there."
"I... I just glimpsed her from afar. Never spoken to her once."
The Imperial Academy had a rule against applying outside statuses. So within its walls, commoners and nobles mingled freely as students. But when the subject was royalty, things changed. Sure, there were no historical records of anyone punished for speaking casually to royals inside the academy. Still, human psychology created an invisible wall. For someone from a modest house like the Lowells—not some powerhouse noble family— even striking up a conversation would've been daunting.
"You never shared a class with her either?"
"Uh..."
"Aw..."
Disappointment spread plainly across the soldiers' faces. Aldric suddenly felt the squad's discipline crumbling. I'm a noble too, you know—treat me better!
That's when 2nd Squad Leader Bram tapped the floor twice with his scabbard.
"Quiet."
The commotion in the platoon died instantly. Knowing Bram's rigid personality, the soldiers clamped their mouths shut.
Bram closed his eyes calmly. He didn't like the fuss. So what if the princess was coming? Of course, it was a big deal. A royal visit would turn the unit upside down, stressing even Bram out massively. But that would've been if she were visiting as royalty. Not now. She was coming as a soldier—a deputy platoon leader fulfilling her service. She'd be around for a good while, so it was better to steel himself and treat it routinely from the start.
Knock knock knock knock knock.
A knock echoed from the platoon barracks door—five times exactly. Tension rippled across the 3rd Platoon's faces. Only one person in the unit knocked like that: 3rd Platoon Leader Leonid Balheim.
Finally. The princess had arrived.
The door opened, and the familiar platoon leader entered first. Trailing behind was a stunning woman. Her royally distinctive red hair swayed softly. Her golden eyes held such depth, they seemed liable to pull you in forever. Her face brimmed with vitality and confidence; even her slightest gesture exuded elegance.
The soldiers reacted much the same: tense swallows, nothing more.
They said military life made even ordinary women seem stunningly beautiful. But facing someone truly gorgeous and noble? It felt unreal. Like she belonged to a different world altogether—hard to put into words.
Aldric had seen her at the academy once, but not this close. Just a distant glimpse of red hair. Up close, she surpassed his imaginings. An uncrossable wall loomed: status, aura, looks—none meshed with his world.
Even Bram, who'd dismissed the hype, felt rattled. His mind said it was fine, but facing royalty in the flesh made him cautious despite himself.
The princess scanned the platoon with a faint smile. Eyes met hers—some bowed heads, others stared blankly, entranced.
"Introduce yourselves."
The platoon leader's words shattered the mood. All eyes locked on her.
She stepped forward confidently.
"I'm Arselia Rosenhardt. Starting today, I'm the 3rd Platoon's deputy platoon leader. I have my shortcomings, but I aim to be an officer you can trust and rely on. That's all."
Her intro was strikingly short and to the point. The wording felt oddly un-princess-like—ungenteel, even—leaving the platoon dazed.
Why are they reacting like this?
I tried to look as soldierly as possible, but did something feel off? Have I lost my touch after twenty years as a princess? Or is the vibe different from Korean military culture here?
Hmm... Screw it.
"Applaud."
No choice but to command from the jump. The soldiers snapped to, starting claps that spread through the platoon. Like they'd prostrated themselves—close enough. I shamelessly soaked it in.
As the applause faded, the platoon leader stepped up.
"Next, squad leaders. Introduce yourselves."
Two men rose. The burlier one saluted first.
"For Rosenhardt! Apprentice Knight Bram. I lead 2nd Squad; specialty is heavy armor and greatsword!"
"Academy grad?"
"No, sir. Enlisted as top private, then commissioned via exam."
Ooh, a mustang officer? Instant camaraderie.
"Please take good care of me."
"Yes, sir! I'll give it my all."
Next, the average-build squad leader.
"For Rosenhardt! Apprentice Knight Aldric Lowell. I lead 3rd Squad; specialty is archery."
Family name means noble. Nobles don't enlist, so academy grad.
"Which academy?"
"Imperial Academy graduate, sir!"
Alma mater buddy?
"Age?"
"Twenty-one, sir!"
A year older. Last year's grad, then. Aldric Lowell... Aldric Lowell... Doesn't ring a bell.
Whatever. I've seen tons of talents hobnobbing as a princess this life, but that's not the norm. Not everyone's a prodigy.
"Likewise, please take good care of me."
"Yes, sir! My best effort!"
And... intros done? 2nd and 3rd squad leaders here, but where's 1st?
No one else stood, even scanning the barracks.
The platoon leader cleared it up.
"1st Squad Leader Iwan's on leave."
"Got it."
"We'll set up a separate meet when he returns. Now, privates. Introduce by seniority."
The soldiers' intros followed. No real need for every single one—knights could've just exchanged greetings, privates via roster. But this revealed Platoon Leader Leonid Balheim's style: by-the-book. Do everything, skip nothing.
Fair enough. With that stubborn streak, his specialty's probably heavy armor.
After platoon greetings, I left the barracks. Plenty more facilities to check.
Next: the stables. Home to military animals—war dogs, messenger pigeons, warhorses. Today, horses.
"Knight" implies mounted, so knights get a horse each upon ranking up.
The handler brought my assigned mount. Familiar face.
"This the one I rode."
"Yep. Imperial Knights handed it over before departing."
First ride today, but only once—still, nice reunion.
"Warhorses cross life and death with knights. Treat it as comrade, friend—not mere beast."
"Understood."
Past life, I'd croon to my inanimate K2 like a lover. This? A living horse—piece of cake to bond like a pet.
I stroked its mane slowly. It neighed happily, hee-hing.
"Please take good care of me... Wait, what to name you?"
Time to christen. Horse-themed? Madol-i? Or that famous anthropomorphic horse game from past life...
Zzt! Ouch, static from tangled mane.
Then lightning in my brain: a name.
"Thunderer. That's your name from now on."
Rolls nice off the tongue. Thunderer tossed its head—likes it, or else.
Your funeral if not.
Post-stables: smithy. The chief smith was a dwarf—surprisingly affable despite the build.
Then the Arkael Church military chapel. Dinner at the mess hall capped the day.
Back at quarters, showered, flopped on bed—Elina nagged.
"You just ate—lying down now'll ruin digestion."
"Yeah, young gut's ironclad. Fine."
"Manage it from youth. Up."
"Uwaaaah."
Her merciless grip overpowered my resistance. Dragged off the bed, slumped on the sofa.
"Oh, right. While you were out, someone from the unit dropped by."
"What for?"
"This month's schedule."
"Hand it over."
Elina passed the paper. Neat calendar grid—easy read.
Tomorrow's lineup...
Trench Construction.
What the fuck?
