Episode 135: Farewells and New Encounters (4)
Spring rains in the Central Region of the Empire are famously endless.
In Grimman, as always during this season, a steady drizzle continues to fall.
Wilfried strained to listen beyond the dazzling noise of the party, trying to focus on the muffled sound of rain as he gazed out at the dark landscape through the window.
By now, the rain must have already stopped in the Empire's Northwest, where his friends were surely fighting.
"Second Lieutenant Ravid, how do you spend your free time after your duties are over?"
A cautious voice came from behind Wilfried, who was staring out the window.
He didn't answer right away and lingered in silence before turning around slowly to reply in a calm tone.
"I spend my time at parties like this, looking out the window."
"Oh, my!"
At Wilfried's candid response, the woman's cheeks flushed crimson, and she let out a shy giggle, as if she'd just heard a charming joke.
"Then what about after the party's over?"
Another woman moved a little closer to Wilfried and asked.
Since entering the Banquet Hall, Wilfried hadn't said a word and had simply stood by the window, watching the rain, but now, he found himself surrounded.
Four Ladies and two Noble Ladies—who had abandoned all pretense of decorum—had gathered around him.
Along with them were eight young nobles and three officers, making the area feel crowded and lively.
Just by being present in the room, Wilfried could inject new energy into any social gathering—disrupting the established order and creating a new one.
It hadn't even been a month since Wilfried debuted in Grimman society, yet rumors that he was the most beautiful person in the world had already spread everywhere.
Women from noble houses all across the Empire flocked to catch a glimpse of Wilfried's face, and men soon followed, drawn by the gathering of so many women.
And anyone who saw Wilfried Ravid for themselves could never claim those rumors were false.
Wilfried Ravid was more beautiful than any painting or sculpture.
"After the party is over..."
Wilfried didn't immediately answer the woman's question.
He glanced sidelong at the rain falling outside the window, letting his words trail off.
The women, gazing at his blue eyes shimmering as if tears might spill at any moment, felt almost faint with sympathy.
"…I usually spend my time writing letters to my friends."
Seizing the moment as the painful silence reached its peak, Wilfried spoke in a near whisper.
Though his tone was composed, there was a hint of the wind in his voice, and despite his indifferent expression, a sadness he could not contain seeped through.
"There are so many letters I need to write that I devote myself to them every single day. But now…"
"Ah…"
A little cheerful, a little sad, a little angry.
Smiling a bit, on the verge of tears.
Wilfried couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence, and everyone around him let out a sympathetic sigh.
There was even a young girl who began to sob, her eyes now red with tears.
Wilfried captivated onlookers with his beauty and enchanted them with his perfect performance.
No one in the world could find a flaw in his acting—because the sorrow and frustration he expressed were truly his own.
"Don't worry so much, Wilfried."
Just as the silence of sorrow reached its height, a man placed his hand on Wilfried's shoulder with impeccable timing. Eugen, Captain of the 1st Company, 1st Security Battalion, offered a bittersweet smile and spoke in a mature tone, trying to comfort the still-young and inexperienced platoon leader.
"They're the friends who studied with you at the Imperial Military Academy I'm sure they'll fight honorably, achieve a great victory, and return home with smiles."
"But, Company Commander, we haven't even heard any news of Bertagne Forest being captured yet, have we?"
Seventeen-year-old, beautiful Wilfried spoke in a slightly trembling voice, as if Eugen's comfort only made it harder for him to hold back his sorrow.
"It's just the rainstorm causing a delay in communication, nothing more. I'm sure of it. By now, they're probably speeding across the Bertagne Plain in cars, having already passed through Bertagne Forest and full of excitement."
Eugen smiled as he patted Wilfried's shoulder, a light laughter in his voice.
"Who knows, maybe they'll fall head over heels for Belliang's women and refuse to come back to the Empire."
"Honestly, Captain Schwarz. Is this really the time to be saying things like that?"
One of the noble ladies covered her mouth with her fan and scolded Eugen for his joke.
"I'm telling you, Belliang's women would never scold me like this—they're much more gentle."
"Oh, Captain Schwarz. It looks like Lady Mihahil is going to prove to you that a scolding is only the beginning."
Eugen exchanged jokes with the noble lady with practiced ease.
Thanks to this, the atmosphere, which had been weighed down with complete sorrow, lightened a little.
"Is there anything we could do to help?"
A young man who'd been watching the mood carefully finally spoke up with courage.
They had absolutely no idea how terrifying war really was.
Just as the Empire's constant propaganda had promised, they longed to win glory and prove their honor through a battle that would supposedly be won without hardship.
However, because they were heirs to their respective houses or stood to inherit much from their families, they had not entered the Military Academy.
They felt ashamed just to be in Grimm while the Empire waged war and they did nothing.
"Fighting on the battlefield is the job of trained officers."
Eugen, well aware of how they felt, drew a firm line.
If he were to encourage them to volunteer for the war and they somehow managed to win glory, their families would never forgive him for putting them in danger.
"But, you know, war isn't just about picking up a gun and fighting the enemy face-to-face."
To the disappointed young men, Eugen spoke gently.
"The Empire may be powerful, but it's struggling to fend off Alliance Army attacks from every direction. Especially since the front lines are split in two, there's a great deal of trouble with supplies."
With a voice and expression honed through countless repetitions, Eugen spoke persuasively to the discouraged young men, to Wilfried, and to the ladies utterly mesmerized by him.
"Isn't that what being a hero really is? If you lend even a small helping hand for the sake of our Empire, you're already a true hero of the Empire."
The moment Eugen brought up heroism, the young men who longed for the glory and honor of war lit up with excitement. And just then, an officer who'd been waiting for this chance quietly spoke up.
"Come to think of it, weren't we expecting some support in war supplies and funding?"
At the officer's premature remark, Eugen frowned slightly.
He should have been more tactful and persuasive, but he blurted it out too hastily.
"Oh my, really?"
Fortunately, enchanted by Wilfried's cursedly beautiful features, the ladies were delighted at the thought of being able to offer even a small help to his friends.
"Should I mention it to my father?"
"I'd like to help too…"
"I have a small villa in Lys. I think this is the perfect time to sell it."
The moment the young ladies began to speak up, the noble lady who had been bantering with Eugen casually joined the conversation.
Lys was a large port city in the south of the Empire, and villas for nobles there started at a minimum of thirty thousand Deck.
With just a little more money, you could buy a wealthy commoner's mansion in Grimm's Inner District—an enormous fortune.
"Oh my, are you sure about that?"
"I hardly ever go there anyway, so what's the point of holding on to it? It's better to use it for something meaningful."
"But if it's the port at Lys, won't you be visiting often in the future?"
"If so, I'll just buy a new one next time I go."
"Well, that's true."
Everyone's attention shifted to the noble lady, who spoke of such a huge sum as if she were buying or selling a simple fork—something the unmarried young ladies couldn't even dream of doing.
Eugen encouraged her, subtly fueling her desire to demonstrate her wealth, and the noble lady responded with a leisurely smile, proudly flaunting her influence.
The young ladies were left helpless in the face of the overwhelming wealth of the affluent widow who, after her husband's death, had seized all her family's vast assets.
"Would it help if I sold some jewelry like this?"
"Well, that…"
Finally, one woman lifted her beautiful pearl necklace with determined resolve.
Her hand trembled slightly—the necklace had been her mother's precious gift for her Society debut.
Because she always wore it proudly, everyone could sense the strength of her resolve.
"That won't be necessary. Isn't that a necklace your mother gave you as a precious gift?"
Wilfried gently intervened, meeting her tearful gaze with a soft voice.
Yet his words were like a poison—sweet, irresistible, and all the more dangerous.
The young lady's face flushed bright red and she felt dizzy at the thought that Wilfried remembered her necklace and even stopped her out of genuine concern.
"…If it's for those dedicating themselves to the Empire… I would gladly…"
She spoke in a dazed, dreamy voice, not daring to admit plainly that she simply wanted to please Wilfried, so she wrapped her intentions instead as an act for the soldiers.
That was the most she could do.
"If you feel so strongly… I understand your resolve."
Realizing he could no longer refuse the young lady's determined sacrifice, Wilfried responded with a touch of regret.
Moreover, by witnessing her bravely give up her necklace—the very gift she had received for her Society debut—he gave her a memory so dazzling she would never forget it as long as she lived.
Wilfried gently took the hand clutching the pearl necklace in his own large, warm grasp, leaned in gracefully, and brought her hand to his face.
"Such nobility truly sets the standard for all nobles. Lady."
"..."
His lips didn't actually touch her skin; he merely mimed the gesture.
Still, the tip of his elegant nose brushed lightly against her hand, and his whispered words, mingled with a warm breath, made her flushed skin tingle.
The young lady, hardly daring to breathe and her face ready to burst, only mouthed words soundlessly.
When Wilfried finally released her hand and stepped back, she snapped out of her spell, gasping shallowly, and instinctively retreated.
She felt so overwhelmed with gratitude that the thought of reaching for him didn't even cross her mind.
In fact, she wondered if such an extraordinary gesture was far too much in exchange for something as simple as a necklace.
Wilfried, who now wielded near hurricane-like influence over Society, had never before, in all his time attending countless Grimman social gatherings and parties, held a lady's hand, danced, or even followed the custom of kissing a lady's hand.
And yet, no one ever called Wilfried rude.
He was the Duke's son, a soldier, and the most beautiful man in the world.
But now, at this moment, the lofty Wilfried Ravid bowed his head to a young lady, took her hand, and mimed a kiss upon it.
With just that one concise gesture, the young lady felt such euphoria, as if she were being embraced by an angel descended from heaven.
At the same time, she was wracked with guilt over her selfish desires.
"I—I'll sell my jewelry too."
"I'd like to donate my silk dress…!"
"Oh, I heard the Empire plans to award the Imperial Civil Medal to anyone who donates…."
"I'll make a donation as well."
"I have a trading company—I could contribute through that…"
In no time at all, the banquet hall—once a den of luxury and self-indulgence—began to shine with the radiant, if self-serving, nobility of young ladies announcing their intent to donate to the army to capture Wilfried's favor, and young men eager to impress those ladies, contribute to the war, earn a medal, and gain honor. It was, truly, the noblest form of self-interest.
'I can hardly believe we're the same species.'
Eugen felt something beyond admiration—sheer incredulity—toward Wilfried.
Of course, his astonishing looks played a part, but his ability to read every situation and instinctively know what needed to be done, always executing it perfectly, was something almost supernatural.
Even old foxes—those crafty elders who'd survived seventy years in Grimman's political circles—would have to bow to Wilfried's skill at these parties. To think he was only seventeen was simply unimaginable.
'Well, at least I'm having a good time watching all of this thanks to him.'
Eugen smiled as he watched Wilfried, who, even amid the raucous banquet hall, stood alone in lofty composure, gazing quietly at the rain falling beyond the window.
Eugen had once set a goal to expand his influence within Grimman's Society through Wilfried.
Now, looking back, he found it almost laughable that he had set himself such a modest goal with someone like that.
Wilfried wasn't simply expanding a single person's influence; he was elevating the spirit of sacrifice of soldiers fighting on the battlefield throughout the entire Grimman Society, and playing a major role in raising donations.
And whatever became fashionable in Grimman Society was bound to spread throughout the entire Empire in short order.
It wouldn't be long before a donation craze swept the Empire.
The high-ranking figures in the Military Authorities, who were at the forefront of creating these trends, viewed Wilfried with great fondness.
Nobles in Society, as well as figures in Imperial politics, were also paying close attention to him. All of this would soon translate directly into Wilfried's influence.
As Wilfried's superior—the one taking him everywhere and providing opportunities—Eugen would also acquire significant influence himself.
'I hope this can be of some help, even if only a little.'
Wilfried, gazing out the window, pictured the faces he missed so much in his mind.
There was hardly any need to even state how vital supplies were in war.
Since the nobles would be donating not just money but also goods, it would help, even if only minimally, to strengthen the Empire's ability to conduct the war.
Although Wilfried hated war, he was willing to support it in any way if it meant helping the friends fighting on the battlefield.
After all, there was no way to stop a war once it had already begun, and preaching antiwar messages would only get him dragged off by the Central Intelligence Agency.
So, in the safety of Grimman, Wilfried was doing all he could to help his friends.
But as a result, he attracted the resentment of some nobles who were critical of the war.
They viewed Wilfried as a lapdog of power, willing to use even his friends who had been sent to the front just to curry favor with the Emperor and the military—or as a zealous devotee of the war.
Wilfried neither became angry nor saddened by such stigma.
But it wasn't as if he liked it, either.
For now, with the country at war, maintaining this sort of reputation was useful.
But after the war ends, as the many sacrifices become apparent, public opinion will inevitably begin to turn against the war.
To prepare for that time, it's important to keep his reputation from swaying too far to one extreme.
He must constantly show that he misses his friends and is saddened by their sacrifices.
And since that was Wilfried's true, unfeigned feeling, those who saw his grief firsthand would, on their own initiative, defend him against claims that he was some sort of warmonger.
Wilfried, thinking of friends he still couldn't contact due to the Empire's information blockade, suppressed his sadness.
He could never lose his composure or waver.
Any unintentional vulnerability was still just a weakness.
Even true sorrow only had meaning if revealed under complete self-control.
"Haa..."
After returning to the mansion, Wilfried washed with hot water, then sank deeply into a chair to give his tired body some fleeting rest. Indulging a bit, he lit a candle on top of the Balt Lighting so the brightness wouldn't hurt his eyes, and stared absentmindedly out the window. He felt so exhausted, he could have fallen asleep at any moment.
Worried he really might doze off at this rate, Wilfried pulled himself together, took out some letter paper, and began writing a letter to a friend. With as many as fifty-nine peers, he had to be diligent about writing back. Even if he wrote three letters a day, it would take a full twenty days; even if he did nothing but write until he fell asleep, there wouldn't be enough time.
In the two months and ten days since the outbreak of the war, this had become Wilfried's daily routine. As a member of 1st Security Battalion, 1st Company, he presented himself by day as the ideal, impressive officer in front of people, and by night, fashioned himself into the new center of the Grimman Society.
It was only after the day ended, when he returned to this empty room to write letters to his friends, that Wilfried could finally be himself.
Wilfried began carefully writing his letter, thinking of the faces he missed. It wasn't anything particularly important. He never wrote about worrying for his friends or how much he was suffering. His letters were filled only with everyday stories, just like when he and his friends had laughed and joked together during their cadet days, without a care in the world.
He complained that his superior, Eugen, kept pestering him, or that the ladies were making too much of a fuss and it was overwhelming, or that the damned rain still hadn't stopped and it was uncomfortable, or that he was bored to death because there was nothing to do during night guard duty and he spent the whole time in a daze—those sorts of things.
Of course, there were exceptions. When Wilfried sat with his quill pen in hand, pondering how to write a letter to Ernest, a bright smile spread across his face. He scrawled a few quick lines, then slid the letter paper aside without much thought. Unlike the letters he sent to other friends—where he agonized over every word—writing to Ernest took less than a minute.
So Wilfried spent quite some time writing letters. Just a moment ago, he'd been so exhausted he thought he might collapse, but now, engrossed in his letters, he even forgot his fatigue and felt happy.
Knock, knock, knock.
At that moment, a cautious knock echoed through Wilfried's room.
"What is it?"
Wilfried, puzzled, put down his quill and asked. All the staff in the mansion knew that Wilfried wrote letters to his friends every night before bed. They were always very careful not to disturb him during that time.
"I'm so sorry to bother you so late. Letters have arrived from your friends in the 2nd Corps..."
Bang!
Before the attendant could finish speaking, Wilfried hurried over and flung the door open. Then, spotting the large box the attendant was holding, Wilfried blinked in surprise. Soon, he realized that the entire contents of that big box were letters sent from his friends.
All the letters that had been held back because of the Empire's strict information control had suddenly arrived at once. And in the middle of the night, no less!
"They arrived just now. Because it was so late, I considered telling you in the morning, but..."
"No, it's fine. Thank you. Really."
After saying that to the attendant, Wilfried narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
"Is there any news?"
"Yes."
The attendant answered politely in response to Wilfried's question. Until now, information had been strictly controlled, yet suddenly they were delivering letters. It had to mean a dramatic change in the battle situation, enough for them to lift the information blockade.
"They say the 2nd Corps has successfully broken through Bertagne Forest and advanced onto the Belliang Plains. From what I hear, it's effectively the same as having conquered Belliang."
If they had broken through Bertagne Forest and made it to the plains, then in practical terms, the conquest of Belliang was as good as complete. From Belliang's perspective, if the enemy breached Bertagne Forest, they would have no way to defend themselves, so they must have thrown everything they had into holding that point, yet the forest still fell. Their capacity to continue the war must have reached its limit, making it impossible to keep fighting. If Belliang makes a wise decision, they'll surrender; even if they choose to resist, it would only lead to a one-sided massacre.
Wilfried clenched his fist, struggling to calm his excitement. Unless something unexpected happened, the 2nd Corps would hardly suffer any more casualties.
After all, Konchanya, to the south of Belliang, would also be too preoccupied fighting the 1st Corps to intervene.
'Soon, this news will spread all across Grimman.'
Wilfried figured that by the time he received the information, many others probably already knew—and he was right.
He hesitated for a moment. Surely people were gathering somewhere, animatedly talking about what had happened. Wouldn't it be good to join them?
'No, I should keep my head down now.'
He'd already finished his shift, gone to a party, and returned to the mansion to wash up. If he now went out again in the middle of the night to join another gathering just after hearing the news, it might look like he was being too conspicuous. Right now, it was better to just lay low.
"Thank you. You've worked hard."
Wilfried accepted the box full of letters from his friends from the attendant. The attendant, without making any fuss about helping Wilfried, simply bowed politely, closed the door, and withdrew.
Clutching the box, Wilfried almost dashed over to his desk and opened it.
"…How am I ever going to read all of these…"
Wilfried stared in stunned disbelief at the hundreds of letters, muttering to himself. Even if each friend sent only one letter, there would be fifty-nine of them. But since everyone had been writing steadily whenever they had the time, the number of letters was truly overwhelming.
He noticed that the letters inside the box had been neatly bundled and sorted with string. Wilfried realized that the servants at the mansion must have taken the time to sort and tie each bundle according to the sender.
Though he grumbled under his breath, Wilfried smiled as he took the letters from the box, touched by his friends' efforts.
"..."
But then, suddenly, Wilfried's hand froze in terror. One person had sent more than seven letters, while another had sent only two. It was as if he were being chased by a shadow—filled with panic, he frantically pulled more letters from the box, then, losing control, he upended the box onto his desk, spilling everything out.
Wilfried picked out one of the thicker bundles of letters and, hands shaking, untied the string. In his haste, he tore open the envelope, sealed with wax but no signet, and began to read. He thought he should check the thinner bundle as well, but fear kept him from doing so.
As Wilfried began to read the letter from his friend, he gradually started to calm down. The letter recounted small, trivial stories about life since arriving at the 2nd Corps Headquarters. But the unease never left his shoulders. In the end, Wilfried skipped to the middle and began reading the most recent letter.
"..."
Wilfried felt his breath catch painfully. The words in front of his eyes looked as if they were written in a foreign language, and he simply could not fully comprehend or accept their meaning. A tear-stained letter, written in trembling script, announced the death of a friend. Wilfried read the handwriting again. And again. And again. But the truth existed there, unmoved by Wilfried's pain—his friend's death remained unchanged.
Wilfried staggered back and collapsed into his chair. He began to gasp shallowly, clutching at his chest as if he could hardly breathe. No tears came. He couldn't even feel sorrow; at this moment, all of Wilfried's emotions were paralyzed by the shock and bewilderment.
He started tearing open and reading the letters at random, grabbing whatever his hands found. He had no idea what he was feeling or thinking anymore. He was so terrified to keep reading that he wanted to stop, but he simply couldn't. Maybe, deep down, he was hoping to find proof that all of this was just a terrible joke.
But the more letters he read, the more the frightened boy hidden deep inside Wilfried's heart received only an indelible, searing wound instead of comfort.
"..."
Then, at some point, Wilfried stopped reading the letters.
"Haa… Haa..."
He couldn't catch his breath. His hands and feet felt icy, as if they'd frozen. His whole body tingled, leaving him unable to move.
He hadn't even read a quarter of the letters, yet Wilfried had already discovered that more than ten of his friends had fallen in battle. How many more dreadful tidings lay in wait for him in the hundreds of remaining letters, ready to claw at his heart?
Wilfried crouched in front of the desk, gasping for breath. Suddenly, everything felt unreal. It seemed as though something in his chest was about to burst—as if his own anger and grief might burn him up from the inside—yet the world just kept moving quietly on, rain trickling down outside as if nothing had changed.
"Aaaaaaah!"
Bang!
The moment hot tears finally streamed from his tightly shut eyes, Wilfried couldn't bear it anymore. He roared like a beast and slammed his fist down on the desk. He swept aside the letters from his friends—the ones he had longed for so desperately—pushing them away, grabbing whatever he could get his hands on and hurling it across the room.
Crash! Whooooosh...
The window shattered, and the cold sound of rain filled the room, mingling with Wilfried's cries.
"Wilfried, sir!"
With an urgent shout, the door burst open. His attendant, startled, started to enter the room, but stopped in his tracks.
"Why… why…"
Wilfried was kneeling on the floor, curled up, sobbing.
"Why?! What did we ever do to deserve this?!"
He clawed at his hair, scratched at his chest, wept, screamed. His desperate cries and grief spilled out, but all of it felt utterly futile.
There was no value or meaning in those actions.
Because nothing could be changed by them.
Soaked in the sound of rain pouring through the shattered window, Wilfried felt reality—one he had desperately tried to ignore—crash over him like a wave, leaving him in ruins.
It had never truly been possible for all his friends to return safely.
Yet accepting that fact had been too painful, too terrifying, so he had lied to himself that everything would be okay, running away from the truth.
As Wilfried—not the Duke's son or an Imperial Army officer, but simply a kind-hearted, seventeen-year-old boy who loved his friends—he thrashed in despair.
The carefully crafted mask he had worn until now could protect him no longer.
Wilfried simply suffered alone, despairing, crying out, abandoning himself, breaking down.
No comfort from anyone else could reach him.
For the friends he loved in this Grimman—those who understood and comforted him—were gone.