Episode 12: I Mistook the Genre and Ended up Becoming a War Hero

Episode 12: Empire

In the game, the emperor was not a woman.

He was a man—once sharp in his youth but grown clouded and tyrannical with age.

He had two daughters, but they were completely sidelined in the struggle for the throne.

In my memory, the emperor was nothing more than an incompetent, stubborn figure.

Yet now, the emperor behind the curtain…

Even through the silhouette, I could sense it.

It was as if they were someone else entirely.

It seemed unlikely for a daughter over forty to suddenly inherit the throne.

Moreover, the figure’s delicate, refined presence felt alien, utterly unlike the corpulent emperor from the game.

Perhaps the world I remembered and this one were misaligned somehow.

Like when I met Franz Eldin, a sharp sense of déjà vu rang in my mind—familiar yet strange, clearly wrong but impossible to pinpoint.

Was the emperor I was seeing truly that emperor?

Even as I pondered, images of the enemies I faced on the northern front, alongside Irena and Freya, flashed through my mind.

I couldn’t confirm or be certain of anything.

Instead, I raised a champagne glass, scanning the nobles for anyone tied to the Red Star.

The banquet grew lively, the clinking of glasses incessant.

After the emperor’s speech, high-ranking nobles and their children cautiously approached me.

At first, it was simple congratulations—fitting for a war hero, nothing out of place. But soon, the atmosphere shifted.

“What an inspiring tale, Sir Ian. Your feats on the northern front are legendary.”

“Indeed, my father says he owes his safe return to you and thanks you daily.”

A noble lady in a pink dress lifted her skirt slightly, smiling demurely.

Another, with neatly braided silver hair, covered her mouth with a fan, her eyes crinkling.

Others flanked me, some subtly touching my arm.

“Could we invite you to our family’s banquet to hear your battlefield stories firsthand?”

“Me too. Speaking with someone who fought in the north has been my lifelong dream… truly.”

On the surface, their words revered a war hero, but their gazes were clear—predatory, eyeing me like naïve prey.

They subtly, yet boldly, reached for my collar, arm, or hand.

To them, I was the most captivating figure in the room.

And it wasn’t just my battlefield achievements that made me appealing.

—Appearance.

The body I’d transmigrated into, Ian Baltazar, was undeniably handsome.

On the northern front, with an unkempt beard, it went unnoticed.

But cleaned up for the banquet, my features shone through.

Even the scars across my lips and eyebrows from battle added to my allure.

To these noble ladies, marrying a war hero was a common trope in their romantic literature.

“Sir Ian, you don’t have a fiancée yet, do you?”

“Has anyone captured your heart? I heard women are scarce in the north.”

“No need to return there, right? The capital is far better.”

As three or four dazzlingly dressed ladies surrounded me, I instinctively stepped back. But they interpreted it as shyness, closing the distance further.

—And then.

“Ian.”

“Sir Ian.”

Click, clack.

With the sound of refined heels, Irena and Freya appeared from across the banquet hall.

Their expressions, despite their elegant attire, were stern.

Moments ago, they’d been surrounded by noblemen exchanging greetings, but now they glared at the crowd around me and approached without a word.

“There you are.”

I said, greeting them.

Irena smiled faintly as she neared.

“Sorry for being late, Ian. But… there are a lot of uninvited guests.”

Freya’s smile was gentle, but her eyes were cold.

“The banquet’s awfully crowded. Ian’s just returned from the north—shouldn’t he have some breathing room?”

“Exactly. Ian’s always preferred quiet, even on the front,” Irena added.

“Indeed. He’s not exactly fond of strangers getting too close,” Freya said.

Their voices weren’t loud, but they froze the expressions of the surrounding ladies.

One was a war hero and one of the empire’s three Aura users.

The other was the head of the Nordelheim ducal family, guardians of the north for 400 years.

They were leagues above the noble ladies. And if the three of us had history from the northern front, it was clear my connection with them went beyond mere acquaintance.

Irena approached and smoothly took my arm.

“Let’s get some air, Ian. It’s too stuffy here.”

Freya smoothly took my other side, glancing at the noble ladies.

After five months of traveling together, she and Irena were perfectly in sync.

“Could you give us some space? We have private matters to discuss with our comrade from the battlefield.”

Her tone was gentle but undeniably firm. A few ladies stepped back with embarrassed smiles, while others gripped their wine glasses, grinding their teeth. The last one hesitated before speaking.

“…It’s a banquet, so shouldn’t we all enjoy—”

Irena’s Aura flared, her eyes narrowing. A ghostly figure seemed to rise behind her.

“Eek…!”

The final lady retreated, vanishing into the crowd. In the oddly quiet banquet hall, Irena spoke softly.

“Ian, are those women your type?”

Freya chimed in.

“Is that true, Sir Ian?”

“Don’t misunderstand. Not at all.”

***

After sticking with Irena and Freya for a while, I slipped away under the excuse of needing the restroom, stopping them from following.

I opened the grand banquet hall door and stepped outside.

A cool night breeze greeted me.

As I moved to walk away, a woman leaning against the wall caught my eye.

“Hello.”

Aqua hair, turquoise eyes—an unfamiliar appearance.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Ariane Kastora.”

Ariane Kastora. A name I didn’t recognize.

“You seem to have been waiting for me. If it’s not rude, may I ask why?”

Ariane, introducing herself as Ariane Kastora, paused as if choosing her words carefully.

“I have a question.”

“…?”

“Are you the eldest son of a count’s family?”

Since joining the northern front, the Baltazar name had been left behind. I was here as simply “Ian.” As I started to deny it, Ariane cut in.

“More precisely… Sylvia’s older brother… the son of Count Tirian Baltazar?”

She stared at me, tilting her head as if comparing me to someone in her memory. Did she know the old me? Or…

I stepped closer. Our height difference cast my shadow over her.

“That sounds like you know who I am. Do you know me?”

Her turquoise eyes wavered noticeably. She forced a smile, looking uneasy.

“Oh, haha… well…”

“May I ask one thing, then?”

“Go ahead.”

“What’s your relationship with this Ian Baltazar you’re talking about?”

Ariane fell silent, closing her eyes before looking up at me again.

“We were engaged.”

…That’s who she was. I shook my head, denying her suspicion.

“Just a coincidence of names. I’m not that Ian Baltazar.”

She seemed skeptical but eventually nodded.

“My apologies for the rudeness. The name confused me.”

“Ian’s a common name. It’s fine. I’m a bit busy, so I’ll be going.”

I walked away. From behind, Ariane’s murmurs reached me. She thought she was whispering, but my enhanced senses, honed beyond human limits, caught every word.

“No way that bastard wouldn’t have died such a pathetic death…”

She frowned, muttering.

“Maybe it’s the scars. I can’t tell his face, but the eyes and build are different.”

Her gaze lingered on my arm and shoulder as I walked away.

“…Yeah, no way. That damned bastard could never have pulled off something so monumental. If anything, I’d believe he deserted—ran away with his tail between his legs.”

She exhaled with a breath that carried a faint, bitter laugh.

“Yeah, that makes more sense.”

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