The Girl Raised by the Death God Holds the Sword of Darkness in Her Arms - Volume 1 - Chapter 1.4

IV

Galia Fortress, Base of Royal Command Operations in Southern Fernest

After the fall of Kier Fortress on the central battlefront, Galia Fortress had received a sudden and massive increase in its military budget, which had contributed to extensive renovations on the fortress. With the capacity to house a hundred thousand soldiers, it was the largest stronghold in the kingdom.

General Paul sat at his ebony desk in the command room. He was a man of sixty years and the supreme commander of the Seventh Legion, which boasted a force of forty thousand soldiers. He leaned back into his genuine leather chair to listen to the report.

“A messenger came to us this morning with the news that His Majesty has ordered the recapture of Kier Fortress. He has declared that the First Legion, currently stationed in defense of the capital, is to be redeployed,” said his second-in-command.

“Well, well. If he’d only made such a bold move a year earlier, things might look very different today. But besieged as we are, I don’t see this having much strategic significance. Their chances of success are poor, even if they are the elite First Legion.” Paul sighed, pulled a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it. These days, tobacco was a luxury. Even for a high-ranking general such as himself, procuring it wasn’t easy. Paul pulled out another cigarette and placed it on the table without a word, but his second-in-command raised a hand in refusal. This was Colonel Otto. The man had been Paul’s companion these past twenty years, through thick and thin. He was highly competent, with his only shortcoming being his tendency to err on the side of stubbornness.

“It’s not my place to presume to know His Majesty’s private thoughts. Now, I also have a message for you, my lord, directly from the king himself.”

“Directly from His Majesty? Let’s hear it, then.”

“Yes, my lord. ‘General Paul, you are to hold Galia Fortress without surrender. To the death, if need be.’”

“Oho ho. Oh, don’t look so sour. If we’re defeated here, that means it’s all over for Fernest. His Majesty just wants to make sure we know he knows that too,” said Paul, gently chiding Otto, whose face twisted in a frown.

“In any case,” replied Otto, coughing as he spoke, “our only job is the defense of Galia Fortress. Excuse me for changing the subject, my lord, but are you familiar with an imperial soldier by the name of Samuel?”

“Samuel? I think I’ve heard the name... Ah yes, I remember. The one who killed Major General Florenz of the Fifth Legion.”

Though only twenty-seven years of age, Major General Florenz had been a soldier of both courage and intelligence. Everyone had expected great things from him, but he’d fallen in the Battle of Alschmitz after a fierce battle against Samuel. Paul had heard that the imperial soldiers had crucified Florenz’s body in full view of Kier Fortress for three days and three nights. And then, several days later, the imperials had crushed Colonel Belmar and the remainder of the Fifth Legion despite their fierce resistance.

“Yes, my lord. That same Samuel? He’s been killed.”

“Oho! So, we still have a soldier with some fighting spirit left. Which division?”

“Hmm. Well, about that...” Otto trailed off, looking around the room as he struggled to find the right words.

“It’s no good bringing it up if you’re going to get tongue-tied like that. Whatever it is, spit it out.”

“Begging your pardon, my lord. The fact is, none of our soldiers killed Samuel, but a traveler—a young girl.”

“I’m getting older. My hearing isn’t what it once was,” said Paul. “But I’m pretty sure I was hearing things just now. Would you mind repeating that for me?” He jammed a finger in his ear to clear it out.

“Samuel was killed by a traveling girl on the road,” repeated Otto, stone-faced.

“You’ve grown a sense of humor, Otto. I hope we’re not in for a storm...”

Paul looked out the window and saw dark clouds rolling in on the horizon, dotting the once-clear sky. It looked like he might have been right on the mark.

“I’m afraid this is no joke,” said Otto. “The girl in question has brought us Samuel’s head, along with those of a number of other imperial soldiers.”

Some few days earlier, Otto had been attending to something at his desk when an urgent message arrived from the sentinels guarding the main gate. A girl had arrived, they had said, carrying with her the heads of a number of imperial soldiers. Otto had rushed to the scene, only to find a young girl covered head to toe in blood and standing beside a large, bloodstained sack.

Upon viewing the contents, he found it truly was full of heads wearing what were undoubtedly imperial helmets. When the girl was questioned, she said she had run into them on the Canalia Highway, where she had fought back after they’d drawn steel on her. This was shocking in and of itself, but there was yet a more shocking revelation to come—when the soldiers had taken the heads of the bag for closer inspection, Samuel’s head had been among them.

“It isn’t some deception? There is no doubt that this was really Samuel’s head?”

“No doubt at all. It was Samuel, the Raging Bull himself.”

“This is unbelievable,” said Paul. He might have had an easier time wrapping his head around the outlandish tale had it been a boy and not a girl. All the heroes of old had demonstrated their exceptional prowess while still in their youth. Paul took a deep drag of his cigarette, then blew it out slowly.

“Indeed,” said Otto. “I doubt I would have believed it either, had I not seen it with my own eyes.”

“What brought her to the fortress, then? Does she want gold?” asked Paul. It was plausible, he thought. All humans wanted money. But Otto shook his head.

“No. She wants to enlist in the royal army, of all things. She was on her way to the capital when she stumbled across this fortress, and says she decided to present us with the imperial heads before they rotted.”

“Hah! This girl certainly has guts. And she’s the sort of maniac who’d volunteer for the royal army in this day and age... By the way, you called her a ‘girl,’ but how old is she, exactly?”

“When I asked, she said she was fifteen,” said Otto.

Paul was so taken aback he almost dropped his cigarette. Fifteen?! That was the same age as his own granddaughter. Out in the wider world, a fifteen-year-old might be thought of as practically an adult, but as far as Paul was concerned, that was still very much a child. He stared at Otto, incredulous, but the other man shook his head silently. His expression said, You can ask again, but the answer will be the same.

“Hell. And where is she now?”

“I imagine she is in the mess hall,” replied Otto. “By the way, in light of her desire to enlist and the fact that she brought us a sack full of heads, I decided to welcome her to our ranks as a warrant officer.”

This time Paul actually dropped his cigarette. He glowered openly at Otto, but the other man looked supremely unconcerned. Now that, he thought, is a step too far.

“Colonel, we may be short on troops, but surely there’s no call for that,” he reprimanded the other man.

“Do you think so?” replied Otto, nonchalant. Paul could see what the soldiers meant when they called Otto “the man in the iron mask” behind his back.

“I certainly do. Now, of course it’s remarkable that she took down Samuel. If she’d been a soldier, she’d have earned herself a Silver Lion. But she isn’t a soldier. And besides, letting a girl barely out of the cradle join the army? Stop thinking like a soldier and think like a human being for a minute!”

“Forgive me, ser, but we do not have the luxury of worrying about such trivialities. I can’t deny I had some qualms, of course, but I don’t care if we’re talking about a young girl or an old crone—if they can kill imperials, we need them. Now, I have a mountain of work to attend to, so I’ll be taking my leave,” said Otto, giving a brisk salute before turning on his heel and leaving the room. Paul picked up the cigarette that had rolled away on the table, and slowly put it back in his mouth.

Otto’s right, of course. We can’t afford to turn her away. Even so, sending a girl into battle just because she’s got some skill with a blade... As grown men, we ought to be ashamed of ourselves.

He let out a deep sigh, a cloud of smoke wavering feebly as it trailed from his mouth. 

The Mess Hall at Galia Fortress

In a corner of the crowded mess hall teeming with soldiers, a young man gave a deep sigh. His name was Ashton Senefelder, an alumnus of one of the most prestigious schools in the kingdom. He’d excelled in his studies and shown enough promise to earn himself an exemption from the draft, but as Fernest’s defeats mounted, the young man had eventually had that privilege stripped from him. Now he found himself on the southern front.

Ashton wallowed in his misery and despair. To someone like him, who’d barely even held a weapon before in his life, he already had one foot in the grave that was Galia Fortress. It didn’t matter how much he trained—if it came to battle, he was sure he’d die in a heartbeat.

A girl suddenly appeared beside Ashton, her mouth stuffed full of bread. Her pale face was slender, and her eyes were as clear as a mountain stream. Ashton had never seen anyone so angelically beautiful. She swallowed her bread and stared sadly at her empty tray. Ashton, in contrast, still hadn’t touched the bread in front of him.

She still looks hungry... I suppose I could give her my bread—it’s not like I’m not expecting anything in return...

As Ashton made excuses to himself, he accidentally made eye contact with the girl. He choked, and she eyed him curiously.

“Er, um, if you’d like, I mean, would you like my bread? I-I’m not coming onto you. You just looked hungry. I haven’t taken a bite out of it yet, so it’s okay.”

“Really? Thank you. You’re a good human, aren’t you?”

Oh hell, it just slipped—wait, good “human”? Feeling slightly disconcerted by the girl’s choice of words, Ashton offered her his bread. The girl flashed him her pearly white smile, took the bread, and stuffed the whole thing into her mouth.

“Thith bwedth dewithuth!”

“Did you just say... ‘This bread’s delicious’?”

The girl nodded vigorously, looking extremely pleased. Ashton watched her skeptically. Compared to the bread in the capital, this bread was dry and hard. Even if you were trying to be nice, ‘delicious’ was a bit of a stretch. He was pretty sure it was bad by bread standards even outside the capital.

“Not to contradict you when you seem to be enjoying it, but this bread really isn’t very good,” he said.

“No way! Really?” gasped the girl. Her face glowed with amazement, and Ashton felt a slight sense of superiority growing within him.

“Oh yeah, the bread in the capital is miles better than this—crusty on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside. But it’s hard to come by these days, what with the food shortages and all.”

“Huh,” said the girl, staring at what remained of the bread in her hand, less than half of what he’d given her. “Well, I’ve never had bread before, but it really was delicious. It always showed up in my books, so I wanted to try it.”

Ashton, who had been sipping at his soup, spat it out. A female soldier sitting across from him shot him a look of clear disgust. He panicked and apologized, but the girl’s words still echoed in his mind. In this day and age, he’d never heard of anyone who’d never eaten bread before. No matter how remote the region, there’d always be someone selling bread. She had to be joking, he thought, and waited for her to continue. But the girl just chewed on her bread and gave no sign of saying anything more. Before long, she’d cleaned her plate.

She can’t be for real. His eyes bored into the girl, but soon it became clear to him that she had been serious.

“If you’ve never had bread before... Where are you even from?”

“Um, I came here from a temple in the forest called the Gate to the Land of the Dead. That’s where I lived, until recently. Do you know of it?” The girl’s eyes pierced his own. Ashton wracked his brain, hoping she couldn’t hear how hard his heart was beating. He still prided himself in the exhaustive knowledge he’d accumulated through the many books he’d read.

The Gate to the Land of the Dead... The Gate... He went over and over the words in his mind, but he had no memory of anything mentioning a place like what the girl had described.

“Sorry...” he said slowly, “I don’t think I do.”

“That’s too bad. I mean, I lived there, but I don’t actually know anything about it either.” She laughed airily then stood up from her chair, taking the empty tray with her.

“Thanks for the bread. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Oh, I’m... Um, I’m Ashton,” Ashton stammered, taken off guard by the sudden question.

“Ashton. I’m Olivia. Hopefully I’ll see you around,” said the girl. Waving to him over her shoulder, she left Ashton to stare after her. Her silver hair stretched all the way down her back, he noted, and he couldn’t help but notice how tall she was—when someone pulled the chair beside him and clapped a hand hard across his shoulder. He turned and saw a man with golden, flyaway hair. It was Morris, who’d arrived at Galia around the same time as Ashton. From what he’d told Ashton, he, too, had been sent to this graveyard after being stripped of his exemption, and just like Ashton, he barely knew which end of the sword to hold. During training, the pair of them were always getting yelled at by their superior officer.

“Hey, Ashton, do you even know who that girl is?” grinned Morris, pointing at her.

“Don’t come out of nowhere like that! What, do you know her?”

Morris nodded like he’d been waiting for Ashton to ask. He looked around conspiratorially, then said in a whisper, “This is top secret, so no telling anyone else. Do you remember that talk about the new recruit who gifted us a bag full of imperial heads?”

“That’s what you’re here to say? Come on, that’s just a rumor,” snorted Ashton. What was top secret about that? He didn’t say it out loud, but he thought that if a second-class private like Morris knew about it, the information was already disqualified from being top secret.

“Oh, it’s real. Now, this is the good bit.” Morris paused, grinning even more broadly. Ashton found himself getting annoyed.

“If you’re not going to talk, I’m out of here,” he said and stood up, but Morris grabbed his arm and forced him back into his chair.

“Sorry, sorry! Don’t be so touchy. Anyway, that girl you were talking to? That’s her! She’s the volunteer who brought the heads—Warrant Officer Olivia!”

“What?! That little g—uh, I mean, she’s a warrant officer?!” At Ashton’s shock, Morris looked exasperated.

“You’re surprised? How do you think I... Well, anyway. I guess it is basically unheard of for a newly enlisted soldier to be made a warrant officer.”

“You’re not pulling one over on me, are you?”

“Why would I do that? Anyway, what were you two talking about? You looked pretty friendly,” said Morris, putting an arm around Ashton’s shoulders. Ashton brushed him off—his conversations with Morris never usually went on this long. Morris was clearly interested in the warrant officer.

Well, when she looks like that, who wouldn’t be? he thought, then sighed.

“I mean, I don’t know what to tell you. It wasn’t anything special. She said it was the first time she’d eaten bread and that she used to live at a temple. That’s all.”

“A temple? Like the Holy Illuminatus Church? Wait... No way, does that mean she’s a mage?!” Morris asked, his smile morphing into a look of shock.

The Holy Illuminatus Church was the largest of the religions that worshipped the goddess Strecia, and its devout followers could be found throughout the continent. Those who resided in its temples were known as “mages,” and revered throughout the land. The stories said that those mages could use “magic,” an art that had been lost many, many centuries ago. According to The White Book of the Holy Illuminatus Church, the goddess Strecia herself had wielded powerful magic to create Duvedirica.

This is stupid, thought Ashton. This isn’t a fairy tale, and there’s no such thing as magic. It’s obviously just a story the church made up. I didn’t think Morris was the type to believe in that rubbish.

Morris was still staring at him, and he was starting to get sick of it.

“No, she called it the Gate to the Land of the Dead. Even I’d never heard of it before, so I doubt it’s anything to do with the church.”

“For real?”

“Why are you asking me? It was news to me, that’s all I can say.”

“Right... Not the church then, huh. Guess it wasn’t that interesting a story, after all.”

Morris said goodbye with a wave, and left the mess hall. After hearing she wasn’t from the church, he seemed to have lost all interest.

Is Morris...a believer? wondered Ashton. Not that it’s any of my business, I guess.

He let out another deep sigh and choked down the last of his watered-down soup.

The Parade Grounds at Galia Fortress

As the silver moon hid behind a cloak of darkness and bitter rain lashed the ground, a man slipped down from a corner of the castle wall. Clad all in black with a mask covering his face, he melted into the darkness. His name was Major Zenon, and he was a shimmer—an operative from the Imperial Intelligence Division.

Skillfully evading the eyes of the guards, he made his way to a large tree growing in a corner of the parade ground. When he drew near, another man in a black coat stepped out from the tree’s shadow—a spy on an undercover mission at Galia Fortress.

“It’s been too long, Major,” said Master Sergeant Morris with a thin smile.

“Pleasantries can wait. Your report?”

“Yes, ser. The royal army hasn’t made any major moves. They’re fixated on improving the fortress’s defenses.”

“How many soldiers are here?”

“Around forty thousand.”

Zenon nodded, pleased.

“Good work. Anything else?”

“There was...one other thing.” Morris lowered his voice further.

“Tell me.”

“A girl showed up looking to enlist. She was carrying a bag full of imperial soldiers’ heads.”

Zenon was too shocked to speak. The girl from all the rumors was here, at Galia Fortress? The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He clicked his tongue at his own carelessness. Of course, Galia was the closest to the royal capital. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that the girl had found her way here en route to the capital. No, he ought to have already considered the possibility. It was an obvious blunder on his part.

“This girl, does she have silver hair?” he asked.

“Yes, ser... Did you already know about her?”

There it was, then. Groaning internally, Zenon gave a nod of confirmation.

“I do. She’s the one who took down Captain Samuel, after all. Right now, Fort Caspar is in an uproar on account of her.”

“The Raging Bull?! It can’t be!” It was Morris’s turn to be shocked. Zenon quickly glanced around them.

“I know it’s raining, but keep your voice down. I didn’t believe it either when I first heard, but it’s a cold hard fact.”

“Sorry, ser,” said Morris. “It’s just, well... I guess that answers the question of why they instantly made her an officer. Even then... If she killed the captain... No, surely not...” Morris fell silent as though mulling something over, his eyes wide. Zenon didn’t have time to hang around in enemy territory waiting for him to find his tongue. Hiding his annoyance, he pressed Morris to continue.

“What? If you know something, spit it out.”

“Y-Yes, ser. It’s just that the girl apparently spent time living at a temple. I wondered if she might be...a mage.”

“A mage?! If you’re right, we have a serious problem.”

“I don’t even want to think about fighting a mage.”

The pair fell silent. Then from behind them, cutting through the sound of the rain like the peal of a bell, came a voice.

“Don’t worry. I’m not a mage.”

Zenon and Morris leapt off to each side, drawing their swords and turning towards the source of the voice. There stood a girl, drenched from the rain.

“You!” In his shock, the words slipped out of Morris.

“What are you doing out here in the rain, anyway? You’ll catch a cold,” said the girl with a coy smile, twirling her dripping silver hair with her fingers.

“A girl with silver hair...”

“It’s her,” said Morris shortly.

“I thought so.”

Quick as blinking, Zenon pulled out a knife and threw it straight at the girl’s head. The needle-shaped blade had been balanced for throwing and painted black to better blend into the darkness.

The knife flew at a speed no ordinary human could discern.

The knife blended into the night, making it impossible to judge its distance.

The girl cocked her head to one side, and the knife flew straight past her. Zenon followed it with knives aimed at her chest, arms, and legs, but not one of them reached their target. It was like trying to hit a shadow. Every single knife vanished into the jet-black darkness.

Well, well, thought Zenon, she dodged all my attacks? This just got interesting. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from Captain Samuel’s killer.

Zenon licked his lips, then darted forwards to close the distance between himself and the girl. She gave absolutely no sign of moving. Not only did she not move to draw her sword, she smiled. Her ebony eyes, however, were fixed on him.

All that power has gone to her head, thought Zenon. But even as the thought crossed his mind, a sudden, awful chill raced down his spine. At the same time, his whole body was wracked with a sense he’d never experienced before. It wasn’t bloodlust, but something far more terrifying. If he had to put words to it, it felt as though he’d been shrouded in death itself.

What the hell is this? I need to get some distance. Get a read on my opponent.

Zenon took his senses very seriously. He knew there were times where they became the crucial difference between life and death. By trusting his senses, he’d escaped death’s clutches time and time again. But he was already in close quarters with the girl; if he tried to disengage, there was a high chance he’d eat a counterattack. And deducing from how she’d dodged his knives, it could well end up being a fatal blow. Zenon made himself think faster.

A maybe-fatal attack?

Or a maybe-fatal retreat?

It was a choice between two polar ends of the spectrum. A split second later, Zenon made his decision: he sped up. Just before he came into reach of the girl’s sword, he tossed his weapon aside, making sure she saw him do it.

“Huh?!” said the girl, staring in puzzlement at the sword on the ground. She looked utterly confused.

She fell for it! thought Zenon. Despite himself, he thanked the goddess Strecia for the success of his plan. If he had looked in a mirror, he’d have seen the twisted smile that spread across his face. Zenon tugged hard on a cord at his waist with his right hand, and there was a satisfying click as a concealed blade shot out from his left sleeve. He angled it so that the blade would bury itself in the girl’s neck. A fatal blow, right in his enemy’s blind spot.

It truly would have been a spectacular plan...had it worked.

“How... How did...?” croaked Zenon hopelessly. The girl had stepped back into a half stance to dodge his blade, then spun all the way around and came at him with her sword. The blade bit into his torso, and his ears filled with the pop of ruptured muscles and the cracking of bone. He felt as if he were watching it happen from outside of himself. A darkness black as ebony ate away at Zenon’s vision.

“That was a neat trick. I remember Z taught me some stuff like that, actually. You’re just too slow. I’d work on getting a bit quicker,” said Olivia to Zenon’s dismembered legs and torso as she sheathed her sword in its scabbard. Zenon, of course, would never answer her. As this scene unfolded in front of him, Morris started to tremble violently. It had nothing to do with the chill of the rain—he trembled with pure, unadulterated fear.

“I like the rain,” said Olivia, looking up at the sky. What was she talking about now? Morris forced his trembling feet to take a step back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said.

“I mean, look. After all that blood sprayed everywhere, the rain is washing it clean. Don’t you think that’s wonderful?”

Olivia turned back to face Morris, stepping with the grace of a dancer. Her face, splattered with blood and rain, lit up with a smile.

Morris clenched his teeth, then spun around and set off running at a full pelt. Zenon had been one of the most accomplished agents in the Imperial Intelligence Division, and she’d killed him just like that. Morris himself had seen more than a few battles and could handle himself pretty well in a fight. Even then, he knew all too well that this was not an opponent he could take.

I’ve got an escape route planned for emergencies. There’s nothing I can do now but get this intelligence back to the empire. I’m not going to stand here and get killed by that monster.

But as he started running, he tripped on something and crashed hard into the ground. He choked and coughed as muddy water filled his mouth. He scrambled to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t move. Forcing himself upright, he looked down at his legs and—his legs, from the knees down, had been cleanly sliced away. A spectacular volume of crimson blood flowed out onto the ground. Morris screamed.

“Sorry, when you started running, I just reacted without thinking,” said Olivia. “Um, I’ll give you these back.” She jogged over and carefully placed his legs where he could see them.

“I was listening to you both from the start, so I know you’re a spy. What is it you’re supposed to say now? Um... Oh, right! ‘Prepare to be taken prisoner, scum!’ How was that? Pretty soldier-y, right?”

Olivia saluted with a childlike giggle. It was like looking at a demon... Or a god of death.

Eager to escape the pain and fear, Morris was only too happy to let his consciousness slip away.

Galia Fortress was in an uproar. Olivia strolled through the fortress clutching the head of an unknown man in her left hand and dragging another man with both of his legs cut off in her right. The guard immediately conveyed news of this to Otto, and it was quickly decided that Olivia would be brought to an interrogation room for questioning.

Otto and Olivia sat across from each other at a plain desk. Paul stood behind Otto, wearing a dressing gown and smiling.

“So, um, do I have to keep sitting here? I kind of want to go to bed...” said Olivia.

“We’re still in the process of confirming what happened. Just a little longer.”

“How long is ‘a little’?” asked Olivia again. Otto said nothing in response. They’d already had this same exchange several times over, and he was getting tired of it.

Otto had been in the military for twenty-five years and had encountered all kinds of soldiers in that time. But he’d never seen one like Olivia. Less than a week after enlisting, she’d killed an infiltrator to Galia Fortress, and on top of that, she’d apprehended a spy lurking in the fortress walls. If any other soldier had achieved so much in so little time, he’d like to hear about it.

But he couldn’t just sit around being amazed. Otto heard footsteps, and looked to the door. A guard hurried in, and proffered the papers he held to Otto—the report on the body that had been abandoned in the parade grounds. The report said that the investigation had confirmed it to be an imperial spy. This confirmed Olivia’s testimony, and Otto let out a sigh of relief. Just in case, he’d had a number of his best soldiers ready for an ambush, but that fortunately turned out to be unnecessary. At the end of the report, it noted that Morris was still alive. A torturous interrogation awaited him once he recovered from his injuries.

“We’ve confirmed your story. The two men will be treated as spies, in accordance with your testimony.”

“Finally! I mean, I kept telling you that,” said Olivia, yawning. Otto frowned at her flippant tone.

“Mind your tongue. We have to consider the situation. In the army, we can’t be so naive as to trust every bit of information that comes our way.”

“Yes, ser! Understood, ser!” said Olivia, but she puffed out her cheeks sulkily. For all the power she wielded, at times like this she looked every bit the fifteen-year-old girl she was. Otto smiled wryly at the irony of it, but then a question struck him.

“How did you even discover the spy’s identity?”

“I just happened to be taking a walk outside when I saw a human scurrying about like a rat, ser! I followed the human and he met up with another one. I listened to their conversation and determined they were spies.” Olivia puffed herself up as if to say, Well? Aren’t you impressed?

Taking in her soaking wet clothes, Otto asked, “You went for a walk? In this downpour?”

“I love the rain, ser!”

“Even though outside excursions at night are forbidden...?”

“I totally forgot, ser!” Olivia declared without hesitation. Otto pressed his fingers into his forehead. He heard a suppressed chuckle from behind him, to which he responded with a single, loud cough in protest.

“Very well. In this instance, I will forgive the nighttime excursion. But I will not stand for any more insubordination. Don’t forget that. But you did well tonight. Truth be told, we’ve been at a loss for how to deal with the spy.”

“Your praise is appreciated, ser!”

Otto had, to some degree, suspected that there was a spy amongst the ranks of Galia Fortress. But there were forty thousand soldiers just within the fortress walls, and another thousand noncombatant personnel on top of that. Trying to sniff out a spy in all that had been an insurmountable challenge. He had, of course, been conducting a secret investigation, but they’d been unable to snare their target. Olivia’s achievement here well outweighed her disregarding orders.

“Very well, Warrant Officer Olivia. At a later date, you will receive a reward in gold in recognition of your deeds tonight. You are dismissed,” said Otto. He stood up from his chair, but Olivia didn’t move at all. Instead, she muttered under her breath.

“Gold...gold...” she said repeatedly, looking dissatisfied.

“What? Is gold not enough compensation?”

“If possible, ser, I’d like bread—good bread, from the capital.”

Otto thought he’d misheard, and asked her to repeat herself, but the same words came out the second time. He hadn’t misheard. Was the girl an idiot? Otto thought. Wanting bread over gold...

“May... May I ask why you want bread from the capital?”

“Well, Ashton told me that the bread in the capital is delicious, so I wanted to try it. He said the outside is crusty and the inside is soft and fluffy.”

“...Well, that makes sense. And who is Ashton?”

“Huh? He’s Ashton. He’s a human,” said Olivia, looking surprised that he didn’t know something like that. Otto suppressed his irritation, and glared back at Olivia.

“I gathered that much. I’m asking you who he is.”

“I told you though, he’s a human! Honestly, nothing I say gets through.”

“How dare you! You’re in contempt of a superior officer!” Otto slammed his fist down onto the table with all his strength, though immediately afterwards he caught himself. What was he doing, letting a young girl get him so worked up like this? Embarrassed by his short temper, he held a hand to his head.

But then Olivia leaned towards him, and asked, “Are you okay?”

Otto found this infuriating, and disgraceful to boot. Who’s the one who made me react like that? he wanted to say, but he forced the words down.

“Colonel Otto, calm down. This isn’t like you. What’s become of that cool head of yours?” said Paul, tapping Otto on the shoulder, sounding amused. He walked around to face Olivia. She looked up at him, perplexed. This was all off the record, so Paul had only introduced himself to Olivia by name.

“Warrant Officer Olivia. The capital has some fine bread, but the cake there is even better. My granddaughter loves it. Have you ever had cake before?”

Olivia’s reaction was theatrical. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds, and her face lit up in a girlish smile, like a flower in bloom. Even Otto was so captivated by the sight that his anger fell to the wayside.

“Cake?! Did you just say cake, grandpa? Never—I’ve never tried it, but I read about it! It’s sweet, right?”

Olivia half tumbled out of her chair as she stood up and seized Paul’s shoulders. Paul beamed, nodding at her.

“Is that so, now? Well then, well then. We’ll add a cake to your reward, then.”

“No way! This is the best!”

“How dare you speak like that to the general!”

“Now, now,” said Paul. “Look at me, I’m in my dressing gown. I don’t mind a little lack of manners. And you can’t deny that to Warrant Officer Olivia here, I am a grandpa—so no mistake there.”

“Yes, my lord, but the example—”

“This is all off the record, Otto,” said Paul, cutting the other man off gently. “Now, Warrant Officer Olivia?” His genial expression had vanished. Now he wore the face of the Supreme Commander of the Seventh Legion again.

“Yeah?”

“I might be dressed like this, but I am, as it so happens, the supreme commander in charge of this fortress. Appearances are important. As such, you’ll need to moderate your tone in public.”

Olivia looked confused, but saluted and said, “Yes, ser! Understood! Warrant Officer Olivia is dismissed and will return to quarters!” She went to the door, muttering, “I don’t get human language at all,” as she went. Otto didn’t know what to make of that. Then, just after she’d left the interrogation room, her excited voice rang out: “Cake! I’m getting cake!”

Otto put his head in his hands.

Paul chortled. “So that’s the girl who killed Samuel and caught our spy. I was wondering what our heroine would be like. She’s quite the beauty! Could probably make it as an actress. A sweet child.”

“My lord, please don’t joke. This incident has shown her ability, but she’s clearly a country girl with no common sense or manners. I’ll be arranging for her proper education.”

“Well, this isn’t really the place for common sense or manners. Don’t be too hard on her.”

Paul let his face relax, and left the interrogation room. Alone, Otto leaned back in his chair and let out a deep sigh. He’d just remembered what the corpse of the agent he’d glanced at before the questioning had looked like. He’d never seen a body cut so cleanly in two like that before. Just from that, it was plain she wielded uncommon skill. As he stared into the flickering light of the candle, he thought to himself, It might not be a bad idea to assign her one of those operations we’d given up on...