TCCIO 32

Chapter 32. Enemy and Ally

“This is our only chance.”

Delia exhaled the words with difficulty and gently closed her eyes. Even as her consciousness began to fade, one thing remained vividly clear: his eyes. Those deep silver-gray eyes—and the ash-colored sky that resembled his gaze.

“It’ll rain. Maybe tonight, or at the latest, tomorrow at dawn.”

At the faint, groaning tone of Delia’s voice, Jer’s face hardened. Rain. No matter how advanced the Empire’s weapons were, they couldn’t win against the rain. Damp gunpowder wouldn’t ignite. If the Iorenti army attacked during the rain while the Imperial troops were struggling…

Jer clearly understood what the princess was implying.

“Understood. I will ensure the news of our victory reaches Your Highness.”

Only after hearing Jer’s promise did Delia let go, as if she had completed her duty. Like an ancient soldier who delivers vital intelligence before taking his last breath, she released the last grip on her consciousness.

“Del.”

The queen turned pale as she felt Delia’s strength fade through their clasped hands.

“No…!”

The queen’s despairing cry rang through the room, and the maids rushed to support her. Even the king, stricken with shock, hurried to Delia’s side. The physician’s hands moved urgently as he examined the princess. Jer stepped back and silently observed the scene. The king and queen, frantic over their daughter. The doctor and his assistant working to save her. The maids and attendants helping however they could.

As if in another world entirely, Jer stood alone, listening to the voices echoing in his mind—Delia’s faint plea to strike during the rain… and the commander’s maddened order to keep the Iorenti princess alive at all costs. The two voices clashed in his head, throwing his mind into turmoil. But even amidst the confusion, one truth stood firm:

He was the Princess of Iorenti’s guard captain.

He would never let her be taken again.

Jer gripped the hilt at his waist with determination. In the frantic room, no one paid him any attention. Yet he gave a respectful bow, turned, and left the princess’s chamber. He had to fulfill the duty entrusted to him—for his princess.

Aaron sat alone in the barracks, eyes shut tight. He had no sense of how much time had passed. Delia had only stayed here for a week. Just one week. But the traces she left clung vividly to him.

Where had it all gone wrong?

He buried himself in the bed that still held her warmth. The reddish lamplight streaming into the tent bathed Aaron’s weary body. Yet the once-intense colors and scents she brought seemed to have faded.

Golden hair like spun silk. Sky-colored eyes. The sharp scent of brandy. The subtle fragrance of wildflowers. Now all seemed distant—blurred.

Was she ever even real?

Aaron raised his hand and examined it under the light, as if searching for traces of her. The gauze’s texture still lingered on his fingertips. He remembered tending to her wounds. Why had he aimed for her arm, not her heart, that day? Had he ended her life, everything would have been over.

That hand—used to treat the very prisoner he had shot. Her pain-twisted expression had long since vanished. Why had he healed her? Why save her from a wound he himself had inflicted? Back then, it had all felt natural. But now it felt meaningless.

His inexplicable actions only clarified her presence in his life.

Since when did I want her?
Since that moment—when he faced her blue eyes on the cliff’s edge. Since that indescribable thirst took hold of him. He had wanted her since then.

But she… she had wanted desperately to escape—to return to Iorenti.

When he tried to take her to the Empire, she chose death instead.

Even though I wanted you so much…

Aaron’s mind returned to the final moment he let go of her hand. That trembling, deer-like body. The tiny, desperate hand clinging to him. Her fading eyes, losing focus.

Only the vanishing traces of her remained, coloring Aaron with deep regret.

He could barely remember why he’d come to Iorenti in the first place.

The conquest of the Three Southern Nations.
To the south of the Empire were Royeni, Kirens, and Iorenti—three small but ancient nations, older than the Stilheits Empire. They were bridges between the sea and the continent, each with its own rich culture.

Since the time of the late Emperor, the Empire had long desired them. Owning the three would secure a coastline border—ideal for defense—and grant access to valuable trade ports. An enticing prize.

For Aaron Stilheits Bergen, the Empire’s sole Archduke, this war was an opportunity. A chance to escape the suffocating Imperial palace.

That palace was chaos itself. Where poisoned food was offered with sunny smiles. Where golden opulence veiled dark greed. Where he had to doubt his mother and watch his beloved brother.

Friend and foe were indistinguishable.

Compared to that, the battlefield was simple: enemy and ally.

The clarity of such division made Aaron smile. And wherever he passed, blood followed.

The King of Royeni had called it “a devil’s smile.” The King of Kirens, “the temptation of destruction.”

Neither survived long enough to spread the word.

Royeni’s king ended in suicide; Kirens’ king was captured while fleeing and executed.

Yet now, because of one prisoner, even that clear boundary had vanished.

Aaron had lost his purpose. His direction.

His deep sigh drifted between the lanterns.

What should I do now?
He couldn’t even guess what a commander should do to retrieve a prisoner willing to die to escape.

If he could never again feel her soft breath…
Never again hear her clear voice…
Never again see her bright smile…

Just imagining it twisted his heart.

Aaron pressed his fingers to his forehead and exhaled deeply.

Even through his hazy mind, one desperate wish remained:

Please be safe.
Please don’t be in pain anymore.
Please be alive until I come for you.

He whispered his hopes—and then his eyes flew open.

Pat, pat.

A small sound tapping the barracks.

The faint, weak noise suddenly grew until it shook the entire tent.

Rain.

Rain was falling from the sky.

Aaron shot up, the wind of his sudden movement making the lamp flicker. Outside, chaos had already erupted as soldiers scrambled in the unexpected downpour. Their shouting and hurried footsteps rang clearly through the rain.

A chill ran down Aaron’s spine.

“Dyke.”

Dyke, who had come to report the situation, straightened up. He was soaked, leaving heavy wet footprints with each step.

“Yes, Commander.”

“We move immediately. We must rejoin the main force.”

Dyke’s eyes trembled with anxiety. An unexpected order—in the dark, in a downpour, when visibility was zero.

He swallowed dryly and protested:

“It’s too dark and rainy to move safely.”

“No. We must leave now.”

“The mountain paths are steep and slippery. The horses will struggle, and we can’t haul the cannon wagons.”

Despite Dyke’s desperate persuasion, Aaron’s resolve didn’t waver. He roughly threw on his cloak.

“The infantry will reorganize and follow once the rain stops. You’ll stay in command here, Dyke.”

Dyke’s face turned pale. Even with his warnings, the commander was heading into the storm.

“It’s too dangerous—please reconsider.”

But Aaron didn’t seem to hear.

“Only the musketeers will come with me. Tell them now.”

Aaron issued the firm order and strode out of the barracks. The rain lashed at his body as if to shake his senses awake.

The rain that started at night finally stopped at dawn. The journey had been slow due to the storm, and by the time they neared Iorenti’s capital, the sun was beginning to rise.

Crossing the rugged Tarens Mountains in the rain had been grueling. The sleepless march left the musketeers visibly exhausted.

Dawn’s light seeped into Aaron’s tired eyes. Silver droplets dripped from his wet hair. His cloak, soaked, hung heavily. His horse snorted wearily, breathing hard.

Despite their efforts, the ominous feeling proved true.

They cleared the forest—and froze.

“Commander…”

The musketeer who spoke stared ahead in disbelief.

“How could this happen…”

Their heavy sighs echoed over the soaked field.

Damn you, Del.

Aaron’s bloodshot eyes scanned the scene. A red field littered with corpses of both Empire and Iorenti soldiers reflected in his ash-gray gaze.

Crazy prisoner.

She had exceeded his imagination.

She’d swallowed poison rather than go to the Empire. Even while on the brink of death, she’d read the weather and ordered an attack.

And he had believed he could contain such a woman.

Believed he could tear her away from Iorenti.

The absurdity made him laugh. A hollow laugh echoed across the bloodied field.

“Commander… are you all right?”

His musketeers looked on anxiously, but Aaron couldn’t stop laughing. Worn-out and self-mocking, his laugh chilled the air.

“Isn’t it incredible? Thinking of Iorenti even as she was dying.”

At last, the laughter faded, and Aaron looked down at his defeat—her gift to him.

He had to admit it.
That prisoner could never be tamed.

Realizing that, his mind finally cleared.

Now he knew what he had to do—to get her back.

A new purpose soaked into him, as vivid as the blood and rain.

“Now, the real war begins.”

Aaron’s low, heavy voice sank into the light of dawn.