3
“…What did you say?”
Zikr arched an eyebrow at his subordinate’s report.
Tension had been mounting in the fortified city of Guaral as they waited for reinforcements from the capital. But now, this report brought an unexpected surge of emotion.
“Yes, sir. It seems a troupe of traveling performers has become the talk of the town.”
The report was almost idyllic, entirely devoid of the tension that had defined their days. It seemed ill-fitted to the wartime atmosphere, but Zikr had no reason to rebuke his subordinate. After all, it had been his own policy to avoid imposing an oppressive military occupation on the city.
Just having an army quartered in the city was enough to create resentment. If they failed to maintain some level of morale among the residents, it could, in the worst-case scenario, lead to a complete collapse in support.
With that in mind, Zikr had chosen not to impose too much on daily life. While maintaining vigilance along the city’s perimeter and rigorously searching for potential entry points the Shudrak might exploit, he had largely left the civilians undisturbed.
It was a compromise—one between his instincts as a soldier and his sense of good judgment.
As a result, city inspections and the treatment of traveling merchants had remained relatively unchanged, which explained how a troupe of entertainers had been able to enter.
“…What exactly is your point in telling me this? If you’re suggesting we arrest them, I see no reason to. Given the circumstances, I can understand why the people would welcome such a distraction.”
Several soldiers had been assigned to patrol the city alongside the local guards. Many of them, having barely survived the Shudrak assault, were both hostile and wary of their jungle-dwelling enemies. Despite orders to keep their emotions in check, skirmishes between soldiers and civilians had become a daily occurrence.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine why the townspeople might find comfort in a troupe of performers. To arrest them now…
“That would be a disaster. The civilians’ resentment would boil over. Surely you understand that much.”
“Of course, sir. You’re absolutely right. I wouldn’t dream of suggesting their arrest. It’s just…”
“Just what? Speak plainly.”
Zikr narrowed his eyes as his subordinate hesitated. After a brief silence, the man exhaled, seemingly resigning himself to whatever consequences might follow.
“The truth is…the musicians and the dancing girl are quite remarkable. So what do you say? Would you like to see their performance for yourself, sir?”
“Me? I will not deny that this talk of dancing girls is intriguing, but…”
Zikr blinked at the unexpected suggestion.
His subordinate was a man he had known for a long time—one who had fought beside him on numerous battlefields. He wouldn’t have made this proposal without a reason.
Still, Zikr found it difficult to believe he was being invited purely for entertainment’s sake.
The subordinate straightened his posture and spoke in a softer tone.
“Sir, there is growing discontent among the troops—though for now, it is only in whispers.”
“Mgh…”
Zikr’s eyes sharpened. He gestured for the man to continue.
“The capital’s reluctance to send reinforcements, combined with our prolonged defensive stance, has led to some murmurs among the men. Many are questioning your decision to hold our position, especially after the camp was burned.”
“…Really? No, I suppose that is only natural.”
A heavy weight settled in Zikr’s chest.
His failure to anticipate the Shudrak’s preemptive strike had cost dozens of lives. The survivors who had regrouped in the city had been denied any opportunity for retribution, which had left them simmering with frustration. It was only logical that their anger would turn toward him.
“Among the more gossipy men, some have started—”
“Don’t say it.”
“…My apologies, sir.”
Zikr raised a hand to his forehead, cutting his subordinate off before he could finish.
He could already guess the kinds of insults being thrown his way. It was the same mockery he had endured in the past—including an obvious, humiliating title that he loathed beyond all else. Even as a general second-class, he couldn’t bear to hear it.
Now, however, he understood his subordinate’s true reason for making this suggestion.
“I see. You’re proposing a way for the men to vent their frustrations.”
“Yes, sir. If we allow them to enjoy the performers’ songs and dances, I believe it will boost morale among both officers and enlisted men.”
“Ho-ho, I see. Your description makes it sound as if you’ve already seen them perform,” Zikr mused, narrowing his eyes.
The subordinate coughed, avoiding a direct answer. But his silence spoke volumes.
Regardless, Zikr was caught between the resentment of his soldiers and the need for discipline. And given that his subordinate—who had actually seen these dancers—was personally recommending them, it was clear they were of considerable talent.
“It seems these dancing girls are quite beautiful.”
“Yes, sir! Er, I mean, I believe they will be to your liking, sir. And their music and performance are also…quite impressive.”
“Hmm, that certainly raises my expectations.”
Though the description seemed a little over the top, Zikr recognized the sincerity behind the proposal. His subordinate wasn’t simply trying to entertain him—he was attempting to defuse a brewing crisis. That was a good thing.
Besides, in the midst of all this tension, Zikr himself hadn’t had the company of a woman in some time. It was unreasonable to expect the soldiers to practice restraint when even he was feeling the strain.
“Very well. I’ll go along with your little proposition. Send an invitation to this troupe and arrange a venue where the men can enjoy the performance. However,” he added sharply, “make sure to search them thoroughly before they enter. No weapons, no surprises.”
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