III
Olivia’s platoon had been at Fort Lamburke for only two weeks.
Galia Fortress was a hive of activity, bringing in supplies for when the First Legion arrived and preparing for the assault on Fort Caspar. Olivia’s platoon, meanwhile, continued their carefree lives at Fort Lamburke.
They were practically chased out, though, when the new garrison arrived. They returned to Galia Fortress, and had barely set foot through the gate when Olivia was summoned to meet Otto in the command room. She went up, staring at Otto’s pocket watch, and knocked on the command room door.
“Warrant Officer Olivia, reporting for duty on time, ser!” There was the faint sound of laughter from the other side of the door, then Otto’s sharp and familiar voice rang out.
“Enter.” She did so, and found three men sitting on a sofa.
Olivia examined each of them in turn. Paul was smiling cheerfully, while Otto looked grim. Next to them sat a man with flyaway blond hair whom she didn’t know. She wondered if he was gaping like that because he was imitating a fish. It wasn’t very convincing.
“I’m here on time, ser!” she said again, holding out the pocket watch.
“I can see that without you waving it in front of my face. Now put that away,” Otto said with a glare. It seemed there would be no praise for her today. She carefully tucked away the precious item. Paul smiled and patted the sofa, inviting her to sit down, so she did.
“I’m sorry to call you here just as you returned home, Warrant Officer. You did a fine job at Fort Lamburke.”
“Thank you, ser!”
“Indeed. Now, I heard there was a master piker amongst those bandits—he didn’t give you any trouble?” inquired Paul. Olivia was confused. She couldn’t remember anyone who fit that description. Maybe she’d forgotten. She thought she had a pretty good memory, though. She hadn’t forgotten anything from the books she’d read, after all.
Ashton had told her he couldn’t believe how good her memory was. If she’d forgotten this so-called master piker so easily, they couldn’t have been much of an opponent. It hadn’t taken her more than a single blow to kill any of the bandits. It didn’t seem fair that she was expected to remember them.
She remembered the fun parts, of course. Making friends with the new recruits, going hunting together, fishing in the river. She’d thought her sides would split from laughing when Ashton almost drowned. He’d been so mad at her after she’d rescued him.
It turned out that Gile had been a hunter, and he was a deft shot with a bow. The birds he’d plucked had been the best thing she’d ever eaten. When she told him as much, he’d fallen down on one knee and said, “I have honed all my skills so that I may better serve you, my valkyrie!”
She’d thought that that probably wasn’t true, but hadn’t said anything, feeling that it might not go over well if she said the wrong thing.
The meals they’d had together, gathered around the fire under the starry sky, had truly been delicious.
“...Er, I don’t remember much of the fighting. They all went down after just one blow.”
“Hah! One blow? You don’t say!” laughed Paul, slapping his thigh. “You hear that, Otto? Warrant Officer Olivia here doesn’t see the difference between any master pikers or bandits.” Otto sighed despairingly, while the blond man’s eyes widened. He looked like he might cry, thought Olivia, a little concerned for him.
“Right! I almost forgot. I called you here today to give you this,” said Paul. He went to get a white box sitting on the table, before bringing it back and setting it on her lap. He gestured at Olivia to open it, so she did so. Her eyes were met by a brightly colored assortment of cakes, and a sweet scent filled her nose.
“Cake!” she squealed with delight. “This is cake, right? General Paul, ser, thank you!”
“Oho ho. I’m glad you like it,” said Paul with a broad grin. Olivia immediately reached out to take one of the cakes, but then faltered. Otto was yelling something at her, but she wasn’t worried about that. No, she’d just remembered that one of her books had described cake as “tooth-rottingly delicious.” What if her teeth all fell out? But she couldn’t resist. She’d worry about it when it happened, she thought, and popped one of the cakes whole into her mouth.
Oh, it’s so sweet and fluffy! Her mouth ached with the sweetness. She quickly reached up to check, but to her relief her teeth were still intact. That meant she could eat the rest of the cake without worry.
She was confused when, as she reached for another cake, someone suddenly grabbed her arm. She looked up and saw Otto, his face bright red and his lips trembling. He looked like the red demon from her picture book.
“Oh, do you want a cake too, ser? I’m sorry, but these were gifts from General Paul so I’m afraid I can’t give you any.”
“Do you hear me asking for cake?” Otto yelled. “How dare you! Do you know where you are right now?” Olivia cocked her head, trying to work out what he meant. She’d seen the plate on the door—it said, “Command Room.” She was sure that’s where she was.
“Er, Colonel Otto,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, “have you been hit in the head lately?”
“What the blazes are you talking about now?”
“Um, I just read it in a book once. When humans get hit in the head, sometimes their memory gets fuzzy. I know where I am. This is the command room. It might be a good idea for you to see a doctor.”
“Y-You little... How...!” Otto spluttered, shaking with rage and flapping his fist up and down. She remembered the interrogation room and thought he probably wanted to hit the table. This only confused her further. She’d very kindly shared with him some of the knowledge she’d gotten from her reading, but all he did was get angry with her.
Z had told her that it was humans’ thirst for knowledge that separated them from other animals. Her words should have made him happy—certainly not angry. If only Ashton was here, he’d be able to advise her.
As she thought all this, she looked back at the box of cakes on her lap.
I bet he does want a cake, she thought. Who wouldn’t, after all? With something this sweet and delicious right before your eyes.
Otto had been kind to her, and he’d given her his beautiful, silver pocket watch. He might give her more things later.
Making up her mind, she picked up a cake and held it out to Otto.
“I suppose you can have one...”
“I don’t want your cake!” roared Otto, bringing his fist down on the table with a bang.
“Ah, so you did want to hit it, ser,” said Olivia, at which he pounded the table several more times. Paul watched him, his expression amused.
“All right, we have something important to discuss now. You go enjoy your cake in your room.”
“Yes, ser! Warrant Officer Olivia, going to enjoy her cake in her room!” said Olivia, giving her most energetic salute to date. She was grateful for Paul’s order—she could hardly enjoy the cake properly with Otto around.
She, of course, had the box of cakes clasped tight in her arms as she left.
“...How should I put this? She’s...a strange girl, isn’t she?” said Neinhardt as they listened to Olivia’s receding footsteps. It was his honest opinion. The girl he’d just met had been entirely different from his expectations.
“No need to be polite, Colonel Neinhardt. She is entirely deficient in both manners and common sense,” spat Otto. He was clearly still angry—his teacup shook in his hands. He’d hardly ever seen the usually coolheaded Otto get so emotional. He smiled without meaning to, and found himself skewered by Otto’s ice-cold glare. He quickly wiped the smile off his face.
“Isn’t she just the sweetest?” said Paul, his warm smile the total opposite of Otto. Neinhardt, unable to work out what he should say, opted for a vague smile. Paul probably thought of her like a grandchild. He’d heard the man actually had a granddaughter around the same age.
There was no denying that she’d been a sight to send hearts aflutter. She’d have passed for the daughter of a lord at a party if one put her in a gown, no mistake. She’d have had young men lining up for her hand, and no doubt she’d have made all the young ladies green with envy too.
Terrifying warriors... I let my imagination run away with me there... he laughed at himself. He picked up his cup of tea. Once a commonplace beverage, even tea was a luxury commodity now. Sutherland’s economic blockade, or as the city-states themselves called it, the “famine,” had forced them to rely on smugglers to get hold of it.
Occupied by such disconsolate thoughts, he sipped his now-cold tea. Otto had at last gotten himself under control and was rubbing his fist, red where he’d hit the table when he suddenly seemed to remember Neinhardt.
“Hold on, didn’t you want to thank her?”
“Oh, well,” said Neinhardt. “I did, but it was all a bit overwhelming, and I totally forgot.”
“Shall I call her back later?”
Neinhardt thought for a moment. “No, there’s no need. Some other time. I’m sure she’s busy with her cake now, anyway.” He realized his mistake as soon as he spoke, and Otto predictably glared at Paul.
“Yes, his lordship here keeps spoiling her,” Otto grumbled. Paul wasn’t fazed, though. Quite the opposite, he sprawled comfortably on the sofa, enjoying his cigarette.
“Oh, Otto, don’t complain so much. Your next little scheme is only possible because Olivia got us Fort Lamburke back. If you’re too mean to her, she might even go over to the empire!”
Otto’s face contracted like he’d been jabbed somewhere sensitive. “I-I don’t...” he spluttered. Apparently, Paul’s suggestion wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility.
The royal army had an ongoing deserter problem. Well, if they’d just been deserters, that would’ve been one thing, but a sizable number of them ended up joining the imperial army. There’d been one particularly absurd occasion where a whole platoon had deserted, then shown up days later in imperial uniforms.
These days, all deserters were sentenced to an immediate public execution to set an example. Some were burned at the stake, while others went to the executioner’s block.
Fear of punishment was supposed to quash thoughts of desertion, but there were still soldiers who risked their lives every day to try and get free.
On the other hand, the executions were having the side effect of deflecting the resentment the civilians felt towards the army. It was ironic, really. This was the pitiful state that the royal army had been reduced to.
Neinhardt thought of Olivia’s happy face as she’d eaten her cake. According to the report he’d read, she’d volunteered to enlist—and even brought a bag of imperial heads with her when she did so. Whatever Paul said, it didn’t sound to him like there was much chance of her switching sides. They couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t, though. She had an air of detachment that made him sure that what drove her wasn’t patriotism, at the very least. It didn’t feel like she was after personal glory either.
Without these, he somehow got the feeling all the empire would have to do to turn her was to offer a big enough cake.
It suddenly occurred to him to wonder—what had inspired her to volunteer, anyway? He scratched his chin, thinking.
These days, Fernest was as unstable as a house of cards. It could all come crashing down at any moment. The imperial army would have welcomed Olivia and her power with open arms. It wasn’t an appropriate concern to say out loud, but he couldn’t help but wonder why she’d volunteered for them and not the imperial army. It didn’t make any sense.
“Colonel Otto,” he addressed the frowning man. “Did Warrant Officer Olivia tell you why she chose to enlist?” For ordinary soldiers, they didn’t ask why. If you could fight, you were in. But things were different with Olivia. From day one—no, minute one—she had shown herself to be an overwhelming force in battle. Ever-cautious Otto would surely have asked why she’d come to them.
“She did,” Otto said slowly, “but her answer was, well, unhelpful.” Otto paused, then continued. “She said that this was part of her search for someone called ‘Z.’”
Of course he asked, thought Neinhardt, quietly impressed.
“You’re saying she joined the army just to find someone?” he asked.
“Apparently.”
“I suppose being in the army makes it easier to get certain information... But Z? That’s not a name you hear every day. Who on earth is he?”
“Olivia’s story, absurd though it is, is that this Z is a god of death.”
“...Excuse me?” said Neinhardt, stunned. “You mean like, with the big scythe? That sort of god of death?” He held his hands up to mime swinging a scythe, and Otto nodded begrudgingly. Everyone was familiar with the image of a skeleton cloaked in rags and wielding a giant scythe. Artists’ interpretations might differ, but they all followed the same basic pattern.
“Another wholly unbelievable tale, isn’t it?”
“Y-Yes. Yes, it is...” mumbled Otto.
Hm? Why’s he stammering like that? thought Neinhardt. Watching Otto stroke his chin, he asked, “You’re not telling me you believe her?”
“It’s not about whether I believe her or not... But if she wanted to lie, surely she’d choose a more believable story. This one really is, as I said, absurd.”
Otto probably hadn’t been able to decide one way or the other. He looked, most unusually for him, totally at a loss. Neinhardt didn’t know what to say, so just made a vague noise of assent. It appeared Paul was hearing all this for the first time as well, but his expression was strangely understanding.
“Well, well. She’s searching for a death god then...” he said, chuckling quietly to himself.
This still doesn’t make any sense, thought Neinhardt. Is “god of death” some sort of metaphor? At the very least, I suppose the story that she enlisted to search for someone—if that is the correct term—was accurate, though.
Neinhardt’s train of thought cut off as he noticed the pile of papers sitting on the table. They had a mountain of other things to be doing rather than just sitting here musing over Olivia’s behavior.
With a deep sigh, he reached for the page on top of the pile.
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