Comtois immediately lunges forward, grabbing Aldo's coat with a frantic, desperate intensity, his goofy face twisted into a look of sheer panic.
"What about me, Aldo?!" Comtois screams, his voice cracking. "What about my damn back?! Why haven't you poured that magic juice on me?!"
Aldo looks down at him, his dead-fish eyes completely flat.
"You and I were processed within the exact same administrative military batch," Aldo explains, his voice a level drone. "And that specific batch was never marked with structural runes. That angry warmage at the sorting center didn't even bother to come back to complete the magical registration before our deployment."
"But then the guards found out about the error later!" Comtois barks, his face flushing red. "So I was officially marked during the third week of deployment!"
Aldo doesn't argue. He reaches into his pocket with a smooth, unhurried motion and extracts a second crystal vial.
Comtois snatches it wildly and pops the cork with his teeth.
"Do it, man! I can't reach the center alignment!" he barks, turning his back and shoving the vial into Aldo's hand.
Aldo catches the glass without a word, reaches cleanly under Comtois's stiff wool collar, and precisely empties the shimmering fluid directly over the hidden runes. Within seconds, a faint white glow flashes beneath his linen shirt, and the burning sensation on his skin dissolves into nothingness, leaving his broad back completely free of the magical brand.
Aldo turns back to Gertrude, his rosy lips moving with clinical precision.
"Do you currently possess any other structural reasons to refuse our proposal?" Aldo asks flatly.
Gertrude lowers her hands from her face, her dark eyes shaking with a sudden, profound vulnerability as she looks at the two teenagers.
"If... if I take this risk," she whispers, her voice small and raspy, "and I find myself in immediate danger from the Duke's guards... who will save me? Who will actually come for me?"
"I will explicitly state it now," Aldo answers instantly, his voice a level, unblinking drone. "And Comtois will also state it. In the event of a critical security failure, I will personally sacrifice my own physical units to ensure your successful extraction."
Gertrude stares into his dull, dead-fish eyes for three long heartbeats, her shoulders trembling slightly under the light rain.
"Sweet words like that are incredibly easy to spot, boy," she says bitterly, her jaw tightening. "Every man in this world uses them before they break you."
"My statement is not born of romantic or moral inclination," Aldo counters smoothly, his voice sounding like a read ledger. "Because of our currently limited tactical forces, I am mathematically forced to invest heavily in every single intelligence asset. I must be exceptionally careful with our resources."
Comtois lets out a loud, rhythmic groan from the grass, shaking his large head with a look of pure pity.
"You really, truly never learn how to talk to women, do you, Aldo?" Comtois mutters, his tone full of playful despair.
Gertrude lets out a short, unexpected chuckle, her shoulders relaxing as a genuine smile breaks through her charcoal-stained cheeks.
"Actually," she says, her voice turning firm and clear, "I think I prefer Aldo's absolute, brutal bluntness. Back in the slave quarters, I've seen plenty of men who use sweet, beautiful words right before they beat me with leather straps. With a completely blunt, predictable person like Aldo, I actually feel much safer. I'll take this gamble. I believe in your numbers, Aldo, partially."
Comtois's eyes instantly narrow as a massive, mischievous smirk splits his goofy face. He leans over toward Aldo, nudging him aggressively with his elbow.
His mind spins with sudden amusement as he watches them. Huh, well look at that, he thinks, his grin widening. Is there actually someone out here who vibes with this walking calculator? Are we about to stumble into a full-scale romantic comedy in the middle of a muddy ditch? This is incredible.
Aldo ignores the nudge completely, his face remaining as cold as stone as he reaches down and cleanly cuts the hemp ropes around her wrists with a small pocket knife.
"Introduce your personal data parameters immediately," Aldo commands flatly.
Gertrude stands up to her full height, rubbing her chafed wrists with fingers that are red and slightly rough from the harsh laundry tubs of the Duke's kitchens. She stretches her arms over her head with a long, relieved sigh. Standing straight, she is slightly shorter than Aldo, her head reaching just below his forehead line. She brushes the wet grass from her gray skirt, her posture shifting into that of a proud, educated young woman.
"I have put my full trust in your words," she says, her tone sharp and intelligent. "So at the very least, you two should trust me in return. We have officially established an operational relationship now. My name is Gertrude Koch. I am eighteen years old, I am German, and before I was brought to Terre, I lived in the state of Saxony."
Comtois tilts his head to the side, his goofy look returning in full force as he scratches his chin.
"So you're a German from Saxony?" Comtois repeats, his voice full of confusion.
Aldo reaches out and pokes Comtois sharply in the ribs with his knuckle, his voice a dry drone.
"Saxony is a recognized federal state located within the sovereign territory of Germany, you idiot," Aldo clarifies.
Gertrude looks at the two of them, her face twisting into a look of deep, silent judgment before she shakes her head and continues.
"Back on Earth," she says proudly, her dark eyes shining, "I was an incredibly studious, high-achieving girl who attended the local gymnasium."
Comtois's eyes widen with sudden excitement, his solid frame flexing as he beams at her.
"Whoa, a gymnasium?" Comtois gasps, his voice full of admiration. "Are you some kind of professional, high-level athlete or something? Can you do backflips?"
Gertrude rolls her eyes so hard her chestnut bangs shift against her forehead, her lips curling into a look of pure intellectual exasperation.
"You are completely, profoundly mistaken, you giant ox," she snaps. "A Gymnasium is the most advanced, high-tier type of secondary school in the entire German educational matrix. It is for academic tracking, not sports."
Aldo reaches into his charcoal coat, extracting a clean white feather quill and a small bundle of folded parchment pages with smooth hands. He looks at her with his unblinking, dead-fish eyes.
"What specific curriculum subjects were you taught at the Gymnasium?" Aldo asks, his voice sharp and business-like.
Gertrude looks at the paper and the quill in his hand, her eyebrows lifting as a sharp smirk cuts across her face.
"You are acting exactly like a corporate recruiter right now, Aldo," she chuckles, crossing her arms.
"For the current phase of operations," Aldo replies smoothly, sliding the parchment back into his suit coat, "you are strictly a localized spy providing our network with actionable internal information... exactly according to our long-term plan."
Gertrude drops her arms, her dark eyes turning serious as she looks at the two red-suited boys.
"Tell me the truth," she asks, her voice dropping into a quiet register. "Have you two actually managed to form any real, viable alliances with the other rebel cells yet?"
"Yesterday afternoon," Comtois chips in proudly, his deep voice booming with absolute certainty, "we officially formed a full strategic alliance with Lourdes Renaud and her remnants."
Gertrude Koch's eyes instantly light up with a brilliant, fanatical fire. She jumps slightly on the wet grass, her face flushing with pure, unadulterated admiration as she gasps out loud.
"Her?!" Gertrude screams, her voice cracking with excitement. "You actually met the legendary Lourdes Renaud?! Oh my god, I admire her so much! She is so completely slaying! She is single-handedly the coolest, most badass rebel commander on this entire continent!"
She steps closer to Comtois, her hands gesturing wildly as she recounts the rumors from the slave quarters.
"The girls in the estate talk about her constantly!" Gertrude says breathlessly. "She has personally knocked down entire squads of high-tier bandits! She defeated three fully armored knights in single combat! And she can use advanced water magic for both high-intensity offensive strikes and total defensive area control! She's a literal goddess!"
Aldo silently extracts his quill again, making a tiny, precise geometric mark on the corner of his parchment ledger, recording her data on Lourdes's combat capabilities without saying a word.
Comtois breaks into a wide, mischievous grin, leaning forward with an expression of intense, gossipy curiosity.
"Hey, Gertrude," Comtois whispers eagerly, his eyes dancing. "Does Renaud actually have any romantic feelings for anyone? Is there a lucky guy in her cell?"
Gertrude's face instantly falls, her bright excitement evaporating into a look of deep, melancholic dejection. She turns her eyes toward the muddy grass, her shoulders dropping.
"Yes..." she whispers softly. "She once loved a boy named Maxime Roussel. He was her primary companion and co-commander during the early border raids. But... he died during the winter ambush at the cavern. It completely broke her heart."
She pauses, shaking off the sadness before turning her sharp gaze directly back onto Aldo's frozen features.
"So," Gertrude asks, her tone turning practical, "how is she actually doing right now? Where is she?"
"She is currently on her way to my designated farmland sector," Aldo answers flatly.
Gertrude's jaw drops for the third time, her dark eyes blinking in absolute surprise.
"You... you have your own private farmland?!" she gasps.
"No," Aldo clarifies instantly, his rosy lips moving with robotic precision. "The territory officially belongs to the royal family of Heilop. I was 'forced' by the High Command to manage the zone, and the officers call it a glorious military reward, even though the soil parameters are completely barren and the entire area is sparse. The 204th Company is currently utilizing our labor units to improve the agricultural infrastructure."
Gertrude lets out a long, low whistle, a look of profound, strategic calculation washing over her intelligent face. She brushes a wet strand of chestnut hair from her eyes, a sharp smile returning to her lips.
"That is absolutely fantastic," she says, her voice firm. "Okay then. Here is the operational plan. I will immediately march back to the Duke's mansion right now. I will tell the housekeeper that I was simply following you two around the outer grounds while you were out wandering in the rain—that will serve as an incredibly plausible, watertight excuse for my absence. No one will suspect a thing."
Comtois looks at her with a completely bewildered, goofy expression, his rough hands resting on his hips as he tilts his head.
"Wait a minute," Comtois mutters, his voice full of confusion. "Aren't you even a little bit worried or angry about the fact that Aldo and I just dragged you all the way out to this secret, muddy hill against your will?"
Gertrude stops her movements, her dark eyes flashing with a sudden, playful realization. She jumps back half a step, pointing a sharp finger at both of them as she frowns aggressively.
"That's right!" she shouts, her voice sharp and demanding. "I completely forgot! I have to make you both pay heavily for putting me through this physical trauma!"
Gertrude lifts her right hand, holding up a single, pale finger directly in front of Aldo's dead-fish eyes.
"Demand number one," she states firmly, her voice clear and authoritative. "I want Leberwurst. It has to be perfectly fresh, well-seasoned with proper spices, made of completely clean meat, and absolutely free of any biological parasites. No exceptions."
She snaps up a second finger, her brow furrowing.
"Demand number two. I want a steady supply of real science books to read in my free time while I am forced to sit on the back stairs during my shifts. My brain is rotting in this medieval kitchen."
She snaps up a third finger, her tone hardening.
"Demand number three. I want thick, clean woolen blankets. Sleeping on the bare stone stairs of the servant quarters is incredibly cold and completely uncomfortable for my back."
She snaps up a fourth finger, her jaw clenching.
"Demand number four. I want proper, high-quality lye soap so I can keep my skin and hair completely clean from the kitchen grease."
Finally, she snaps up her thumb, holding her entire hand open before his face.
"And demand number five," she concludes, her voice sharp. "I want a regular stipend of discretionary money for local emergencies."
Aldo doesn't blink. He reaches out with a smooth, uncalled hand, takes her open palm in his own fingers, and pulls her hand forward. With a single, fluid motion of his left hand, he extracts a thick, heavy stack of forty gleaming silver cents from his suit pocket and places them directly into her palm. He folds her fingers closed over the cold metal with a steady, mechanical pressure, his rosy lips flat.
"Go buy those specific items yourself within the Thromium market district," Aldo says, his voice an absolute, deadpan drone.
Without waiting for her response, Aldo turns his well-proportioned body around, his dead-fish eyes fixing onto the dense, dark thicket of wild oaks that lines the deep ravine.
"I am going to immediately scout the geographic parameters of this woodland area," Aldo announces flatly.
He walks away with a steady, calculated stride, his charcoal suit vanishing into the thick foliage within three paces, his movements silent against the wet ferns.
Comtois stands alone in the grass, his jaw dropped completely open as he stares at the space where Aldo was just standing, his goofy face twisted into a look of sheer, unadulterated shock.
"Damn," Comtois whispers loudly, his voice full of awe. "That guy is just... he is incredibly, ridiculously rich! He didn't even hesitate!"
Gertrude brushes the remaining bits of wet dirt from her gray dress, turning her back on the ravine with a sharp, satisfied nod. She looks at the mountain of silver in her hand, a small chuckle escaping her lips.
"I will officially excuse myself now, big guy," she says cheerfully to Comtois. "See you back at the ballroom."
She walks away down the path, her gray skirt disappearing into the mist.
Comtois is left entirely alone on the crest of the muddy hill. He blinks twice, looking at the gray sky, letting the adrenaline of the morning fade as a wide, boyish grin breaks across his broad face. He stretches his muscular arms, turns around, and begins wandering up the slope at a lazy, independent pace. He stops near a patch of bright purple thistles, bending down with his thick, calloused hands to pick a small wild flower.
A massive, dark blue mountain butterfly flutters out from the wet grass, its wings gleaming like wet silk in the gray light. Decompressing from the tension of the raid, Comtois lets out a soft, delighted chuckle, his goofy look returning in full force as he begins tracking the insect through the clover, his heavy boots kicking up bits of rain-soaked turf with every sudden, joyful leap.