"In the cold, drunk night, a most strange person showed me I could simply ask for love."
"I have heard imperial knights are residing in the baron's manor..."
"Have you even seen the baron or anyone from the mansion these past three days?"
"They announced the day before yesterday that the castle and the capital had been conquered..."
"Do you think they are here to inspect the territory?"
"I believe they are here to appoint a new lord... No?"
"What will become of us?"
"Will they take us as slaves?"
"What will become of us?"
"I saw two fellows roaming around the town yesterday... and just today there is an urgent volunteer notice on the board..."
The town was buzzing with all kinds of talk and gossip, and people were growing more anxious with each passing day. The sight of imperial knights walking among them—knights who, until now, had always been counted among their enemies—only worsened the tension. Some even went so far as to claim that the territory had already been conquered and that the baron had fled.
Not entirely wrong.
The baron did flee—but from his life.
The baron's territory was landlocked. It sat at approximately 31°15′—31°45′ N and 74°01′—74°39′ E, in the northeastern part of the kingdom. It had an approximate population of two thousand people. Among them, only one frail doctor; no one from any ministry, meaning most were illiterate. Many were day laborers, and the vast majority were farmers. The total land area was about 200 km².
Khallian let out a sigh as he gazed down at the town from the window of the mortel where they were staying.
And by they, he meant himself and Sir Jaxon.
After what had happened at the first meeting, neither dared to step foot inside the castle. Instead, they delivered their daily reports to Sir Alen.
"Ughhh."
Jaxon let out a frustrated groan, massaging his temples with both hands.
"That man just sits there, silent, scribbling on papers the whole time we deliver the report! Are you even sure he listens to us?
What's even the point of making us do this if we can't act on our own?!
We require his permission, yet we're expected to protect this land and its people alone...
This doesn't make sense!"
Jaxon unleashed all his frustrations.
Khallian listened quietly and nodded.
He had begun to grasp the Emperor's reason for orchestrating this scenario...
But denial crept in too—was he truly serving the right man?
For his empress lay unconscious and beaten in bed...
Did the Emperor know this would happen?
His thoughts had been spiraling for days now. He had started questioning the very choices that led him here.
But he also knew—better than anyone—that overthinking never solved any kind of doubt. Never.
He had sworn to himself that he would see this mission through, no matter what, and afterward, confront the Emperor and have every doubt cleared—by his words, and his words alone.
On the other hand, Khallian had come to realize that Jaxon was, more often than not, just a lazy adult stumbling through life. But now and then, he'd pause, sketch town diagrams, study the surrounding maps... and when he couldn't find anything to his liking, he'd spiral into frustration again.
Yet one thing was clear to Khallian: Jaxon was devising.
For the last three days, Khallian had observed all his subordinates closely.
Dame Diana had taken charge of securing the mansion. She'd begun digging a twenty-meter-long trench filled with wooden spikes and a high concentration of arsenic-laced water. The trench would be covered with a green sheet, topped with scattered mud, bushes, and flowers to camouflage it.
At first, people ridiculed the plan for lacking realistic sources. But then Commander Lila intervened, stating she would arrange the needed materials.
So all they had to do was stay focused on their tasks.
Commander Lila had recruited around 200 women from the town, paying them one gold per day to carry out the work.
"So much for feminism," Jaxon had muttered when he heard. "She didn't even recruit a single man. Obviously, it would've been easier with just fifty men."
Dame Diana's plan wasn't just the fastest to come forward—it was the most quickly accepted and praised. Most of all, Khallian saw her working day and night, laying down more traps in and around the mansion.
She had completely embraced the defense strategy.
And Jaxon, childish as ever, had been diligently crafting his own defense plan too.
The only one acting unreasonably—at least to an outsider—was Commander Lila. She vanished at night, only returning in the mornings. Word was, she'd been sleeping in the surrounding forests for the past three nights. She hadn't submitted a single report. She stayed silent—only speaking when she pledged support for Dame Diana's plan, then delivered 200 women into the mansion's service.
And Khallian? What had he done himself, other than observe?
He had decided to coat each home, tree, and fire-prone surface in the town with a mixture of mud and ash. Covering everything completely wasn't possible—there weren't enough materials—but he marked and treated high-risk areas.
He also began educating the townspeople, giving each household a bag of the mud-ash mixture and instructing them not to panic in the event of fire. Instead, they were to put it out with the contents of the bag.
Khallian's skill as a fighter couldn't be used—there was no way they could face even an army of 500 head-on. So he adapted.
He learned to use his strength theoretically, strategically.
He and Dame Diana even collaborated in creating the fire-suppression bags.
That's when he truly realized why she was titled "Dame." She truly lived up to it.
In just a few minutes, she had matched his pace, synchronized with his efforts, and worked in total camaraderie.
Khallian had also instructed the people not to flee in fear, but to stand and fight through preparedness.
There was no route of escape anyway. The territory was surrounded on all sides—two viscount territories and one belonging to a marquess.
Two were working day and night.
One was sighing in frustration.
One had disappeared most of the time.
And Sir Alen? Silent.
"Duke, I will ambush Viscount Monger's mansion tonight. I've calculated everything. It'll take me three days to settle things in that territory."
Commander Lila stood before Sir Alen, who—as always—had his head buried in paperwork, working one document after another.
"Why Viscount Monger?"
Sir Alen asked, calmly… and coldly.
"Tomorrow, a major weapons transaction is scheduled between the three lords—Viscount Monger, Viscount Thierry, and Marquess Dazz. They had a meeting today. The date for their ambush on the baron's territory is set for four days from now.
I'll handle Viscount Monger myself and make sure no weapon supply reaches the others.
The territories around us already know we're here—and they've set their sights on the Empress, aiming for more.
If I take out their weapon and power supply, I believe my comrades—capable as they are—will take care of the rest."
Commander Lila's voice was firm.
Still, there was no change in Sir Alen's expression. Not even a flicker.
"And they?
They think the same way?"
he asked, sounding utterly nonchalant.
Commander Lila felt her heart pounding faster with every word.
The tightness in her chest returned.
This man, standing before her, was the root of all her sadness.
"Should I care?"
she replied, forcing calm into her voice—masking the storm underneath.
"I must remind the Emperor of my petition again. You've just proved you're unfit to be a commander."
Sir Alen stated calmly.
Lila clicked her tongue.
"I came here only to report. Now, please excuse me. I must be on my way."
A second longer, and she'd collapse again from the weight in her chest.
"Sure. Take Jaxon with you. Now leave. I don't have more time to spare."
…
Lila, clutching her heart, wandered the town in search of Jaxon.
An hour earlier, she had run into Sir Khallian, who informed her that Jaxon was—of all places—in a pub, wasting himself.
She had blinked at him in disbelief. There were only two pubs in this town, and even knowing where he was, it still took her a full hour to find him.
And when she did—there he was, laughing, joking, playing cards with drunkards and pub staff as if they didn't have a war to survive.
For a brief second, watching his carefree, unbothered self, something in Lila softened. Her eyes… and her heart, which somehow felt emptier than usual.
She approached him and yanked him up by the collar—dragged him out without a word.
The whole pub fell silent.
Moments later, they were outside, away from everyone, in a quiet, dim-lit alley.
Jaxon's face flushed red with embarrassment. He snatched his arm back from her grip.
"What is wrong with you?!
You mad commander!"
He snapped, livid.
"Who does something like that?!
Do you have any idea how badly you just humiliated me?"
He questioned, breathing hard, trying to suppress the rising anger in his chest.
"We have to leave for Viscount Monger. We don't have time."
Lila said flatly, already turning on her heel to walk away.
Jaxon followed—then suddenly veered off in the other direction.
"You are a sick woman!"
he shouted after her.
"I want you with me!"
This time, Lila shouted too.
Her voice echoed loud enough to stop Jaxon in his tracks.
But only for a second.
He didn't turn, didn't answer. He started walking again.
"I will be taking the east route, Sir Jaxon!"
She shouted once more.
He was gone.
Her chest ached. Throbbed with every second.
Lila stood there—where he'd left her.
Minutes passed. Then more.
The night air was cold—biting.
Wind howled through the empty streets of the small town.
The stars above sparkled like distant memories, far too high to touch.
Everything around her felt painfully quiet.
Lonely.
And yet, somehow… so carefree.
This town had become a remnant.
A ghost of something no one ever named.
She was just about to crouch down and finally let her heart break again,
when—
Jaxon returned.
He passed her silently, his arms full—twelve bottles of booze clinking in his hands.
He didn't even look at her. Just kept walking forward.
Lila's eyes widened.
And the tears she had held in for years finally dared to slip.
One.
Then another.
And then… a smile.
A real, aching, relieved smile.
She followed the drunkard Jaxon—
who had drunk enough to numb himself,
but not enough to lose his way.