Episode 21: Empire (9)
It was something I’d already suspected.
The reactions of Ian’s former fiancée, his sister, and the family all pointed to Ian’s supposed death.
But why the rumor of Ian’s death was spread remained unclear.
Was it because of the people Irena mentioned who were searching for him?
Or was it somehow related to why he had stationed me at the frontlines?
Duke Nordelheim, who perished in the subjugation, could offer no answers.
It could be both reasons, or perhaps an entirely unrelated incident.
All I had were inferences pieced together from hearsay, so no definitive conclusion emerged.
Personally, I speculated that those searching for Ian might have been assassins.
Judging by others’ reactions, Ian had lived a wastrel’s life, likely earning enemies who could have sent killers after him.
“Do you know why?” I asked.
“I don’t, but Duke Nordelheim seemed to care about you. When you were injured, it was probably his support that allowed Freya to bring herbs,” Irena replied.
The duke cared about me?
It was hard to see that in a positive light when I still didn’t know why he’d thrown me to the front lines.
What kind of lunatic sends their daughter’s savior to die?
I’d have to ask Freya about it, though mentioning her late father felt uncomfortable.
Irena lowered her head slightly, her hair catching the light softly.
“Ian.”
After a brief hesitation, she called my name, her eyes saying more than words could.
“…Did you really not resent me?”
Her voice carried a desperate hope mixed with lingering unease, like someone who wanted to believe but couldn’t fully trust.
“I know there’s no such thing as a perfect choice. But I also know you’ve always pursued the best possible outcome.”
There’s no such thing as a perfect choice.
To choose is to forsake something else.
Sacrificing possibilities is the essence of choice.
That’s why humans can never make a truly perfect decision.
Regret lingers like a shadow, and humans chase the past, stepping on it.
No matter what I said, she’d still see that shadow, and doubt would remain.
Words are always imperfect, conveying only a fraction of what I feel.
The meaning I wanted to convey, the thoughts I hoped would reach her, would ultimately be interpreted through her lens.
Still, I wanted my words to reach her. I hoped, at this moment, my words could touch her. That’s all I wished for—Irena’s happiness.
“I didn’t resent you because you were a commander who pursued the best while carrying every failure in your heart.”
Seeing her push herself to the brink to save others turned resentment into pity.
Watching her suffer so much erased even hatred.
My feelings toward her weren’t resentment or hatred. In fact, I—
“Thank you for saying that. But… I guess I can’t help feeling anxious still.”
Her smile wasn’t bright. It was a fragile mix of sadness and relief, almost crumbling.
Turning her head slightly, she whispered,
“…If that’s true, why do you still call me ‘Commander’ instead of my name?”
Her question left me speechless. I’d thought about it before.
She’d saved me amidst countless deaths and orders, yet I’d always called her “Commander.”
Perhaps, deep down, I’d been drawing a line. A mix of admiration, respect, and unspoken feelings—hidden behind a title.
But today, after crossing swords and facing each other’s true selves, I decided to stop hiding. Looking at her slowly, I spoke.
“Irena.”
Her eyes trembled widely. Those resolute, unwavering eyes glistened silently at that single word.
It was the first time I’d called her by name. It wasn’t just a title—it was an expression of my intent to close the distance.
“…Yeah. That’s nice.”
Irena turned away, biting her lip slightly. Then, looking back at me, she said,
“I’m glad we cleared up the misunderstanding before I retire.”
“You’re really retiring?”
Irena nodded. The worsening condition of her right arm after the Erebeon campaign, combined with the northern front’s resolution, had led to her decision to retire.
She mentioned the deputy commander was likely to succeed her, though it wasn’t certain. Apparently, there was some sort of selection process.
Since it never appeared in the original story, I couldn’t be certain. Perhaps it emerged as a result of the story’s distortion.
“Have you thought about what you’ll do after retirement?” I asked.
“…Not really,”
Irena replied, tilting her head as if she hadn’t considered it.
Her eyes subtly shifted toward me. Irena was a rare case: an unmarried noblewoman, head of a viscount family, and knight commander.
With such an extraordinary background, her future must be weighing on her.
“What about you?” she asked.
Crush the Red Star, stop the southern apocalypse, then head east.
I had neither reason nor time to settle down.
The emperor seemed to intend to use me as a blade with the dukedom and its estate, but I had no intention of being bound.
Maybe after everything was done, but not now.
“I plan to head south soon,” I said.
***
The next morning, fog enveloped the viscount’s estate, cloaking the mansion’s garden.
A curtain was drawn back, and pale sunlight spilled across the parlor floor. A servant approached cautiously.
“A decree bearing the emperor’s seal arrived earlier, along with an attendant…”
I closed the book I was reading and looked up. “Their name?”
“They introduced themselves as Astier, from the intelligence agency.”
‘Finally here.’
The intelligence agency was akin to a modern espionage organization, like the CIA.
It carried out the emperor’s direct orders while gathering information, often handling dirty work and harboring many secrets. Walter Gernhardt led the agency.
“Let them in.”
The door opened, and a young woman in a black longcoat entered.
Her neatly combed brown hair and expressionless gray-blue eyes gave her the air of someone who’d just left a funeral.
She handed me a document silently.
“By order of Her Majesty. I am Astier, overseer of the intelligence agency’s fourth division.”
The document bore the emperor’s seal, detailing cooperation on Red Star matters. The phrase “accompanying oversight” stood out.
“Errand-runner?” I asked.
Astier’s brow twitched subtly, but she quickly regained her composure, speaking evenly. Was that a hint of irritation in her voice, or was I imagining it?
“…Officially, I’m an accompanying intelligence officer. Field authority rests with you, Duke.”
Her tone was polite but devoid of emotion, without a trace of hesitation.
Standing neatly by the desk, she added softly,
“Your movements, contacts, and acquired information will be reported to Her Majesty daily.”
‘So blatant about it.’
Was this the emperor’s way, different from the original story? Hard to say.
It was better than covert surveillance disguised as something else, but that didn’t change the fact that it was surveillance.
“For example?” I asked.
“Currently, all peripheral information on the Red Star’s activities.”
“Fine. Then I’ll take it as you being my hands and feet from now on.”
“If that’s how you understand it.”
Her gaze didn’t waver, carrying a subtle edge, like someone who took pride in their duty.
I wasn’t an expert at reading people, but I could tell if someone was likely to die by a stray blade.
As for Astier—
Not bad.
She didn’t seem like someone who’d perish carelessly.
Even behind her emotionless façade, her prioritization of duty over loyalty made her trustworthy.
“Information?”
“This afternoon, at the northern district’s auction house in the capital. A mid-level broker we’ve been monitoring is listing an item. They’re linked to the Red Star’s funding routes.”
I nodded. I’d already prepared for the Red Star—their connections, the nobles involved, their hideouts.
Even with the story’s deviations, combining existing and new information would make this straightforward.
****
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