[Volume 2.5 | Chapter 92: A Return to the Capital (IV)]

The room they entered was utterly devoid of personality.

There were no photographs, personal trinkets, nor even a potted plant. It was a sterile space engulfed by a large desk covered in meticulously stacked documents and a sleek. The walls were lined with bookshelves that housed reference materials, regulations, and policy manuals rather than novels or works of fiction. Every item, from the ceremonial letter opener to the precisely aligned stack of requisition forms, seemed positioned according to how a manual would tell a human to arrange the room. Nothing was a millimeter off.

Whilst Bianca bounced into the room, already chattering about how "wicked cool" it must be to have such a famous brother, Siegfried lingered in the doorway. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied their administrative handler.

She's faking zit. All of zit.

The performance was masterful, he had to admit. Every gesture measured, every inflection of her voice calibrated to project competence and serenity. To the untrained eye, Marseille Ainsworth was exactly what she appeared to be: a rising administrative star from a prestigious bloodline, following the well-worn path of aristocratic duty.

But Siegfried had spent his childhood navigating the treacherous waters of Wallachian nobility.

He recognized the signs of someone drowning beneath the weight of expectations, and the microscopic hesitations before certain phrases, the "perfect" posture speaking of constant self-monitoring, and the way her fingers occasionally twitched toward phantom imperfections only she could perceive.

Confidence? Never.

Compensation? Absolutely.

Living forever in the shadow of William Ainsworth, the prodigy, the legend, the Number One, had shaped his sister into a masterpiece of mimicry.

A slave to the family name.

Siegfried almost pitied her.

Almost.

"Please, have a seat." She gestured to the chairs opposite her desk. "We have much to discuss before you meet with General Vessalius. As you may know, his schedule is quite demanding."

They obliged, though Siegfried's posture remained rigidly upright, his hands clasped in his lap, and his eyes fixed on Marseille. He wouldn't give her the slightest opportunity to feel superior. If she wanted to pretend at being perfect, he would play along. For now.

"The first order of business is—"

"SURPRISE INSPECTION, SOLDIER!"

The bellowing roar shattered the office's pristine quiet like a grenade in a library.

The door flew open so violently that it bounced off the wall, sending several meticulously arranged certificates askew. Marseille's normally imperturbable composure disintegrated in an instant—she leaped nearly six inches out of her chair with a strangled yelp. That sent her paperwork cascading across the desk and floor like a flock of startled doves.

Bianca let out a squeal of alarm, tumbling backwards over her chair and landing in an undignified heap. Siegfried's reflexive response was a fraction more controlled, but it was still useless since he instinctively lunged for a weapon that wasn't there by his hip.

Only Pandora remained seated, though her golden eyes narrowed sharply at the sudden intruder.

Except it wasn't an "intruder" at all.

Hazard Vessalius stood in the doorway, arms spread wide, grinning like a child successfully hidden under a bed to grab an unsuspecting parent's ankle. At thirty years old, the General of the Dragoon Corps was 6'3" of muscle encased in a sharply tailored, double-breasted black uniform coat. Gold buttons marched in fluid formation down his chest, while Imperial Crimson accents along the collar and cuffs provided quite a striking contrast. His shoulder epaulettes—massive gold-fringed statements of authority set against crimson backing—seemed almost comically large, like the plumage of an exotic bird attempting to attract a mate.

The only thing that ruined the uniform of an ostensibly seasoned general was a clean-shaven face currently sporting an expression of mischievous glee utterly incongruous with his rank and the constellation of medals adorning his chest.

That, and his blond hair styled in a military crew cut.

"YOU!" Marseille spluttered. "You deliberately masked your [Instinct]! I didn't sense a single trace of your presence!"

Hazard stuck out his tongue.

Actually stuck out his tongue.

A General of the Dragoon Corps, Field Marshal and commander of over 70,000 elite troops, bearer of the Vessalius Battaglia Birthright, and recent recipient of an Anti-Nation classification by the Centrum Supremum's Assessment Protocol... sticking out his tongue like a schoolboy caught pulling a prank.

"Hmm? That was rather the point of masking it, wasn't it?" he replied cheerfully. "Wouldn't be much of a surprise otherwise!"

"Do you have ANY concept of professional decorum? This is precisely why the Ainsworth delegation raised concerns about your promotion to Field Marshal last week! 'He behaves like a buffoon!' they said. 'He will tarnish the dignity of Imperial Legion!' they cried. 'He's a disgrace to the Empire's proud traditions!' they lamented!"

"Aww, don't be like that, Marshmallow."

"DO NOT CALL ME THAT!"

"Sorry, sorry." He didn't look remotely sorry. "Eh... Administrator Ainsworth? Well, Intern Administrator Ainsworth? Or is that Intern Intern? No, that sounds wrong..."

"This... this... this lack of propriety is exactly why you remain unmarried at your age!" Marseille snapped, finally gathering her papers into a somewhat orderly stack. "What respectable woman would tolerate such juvenile behavior from her husband?!"

"Guh! That was a low blow! Below the belt! Hitting a man where it hurts the most—his pride!"

Hazard clutched his chest as if mortally wounded.

Marseille pinched the bridge of her nose, dislodging her glasses slightly.

"General Vessalius, I have six additional appointments scheduled today. All were schedule to accommodate your supposed meeting with the Sky Admiral. If you're attempting to inform me that my preparations were unnecessary—"

"That's exactly what I'm saying!" Hazard beamed. "The meeting wrapped up early. Very early. Almost suspiciously early, one might say, but who am I to question the workings of the bureaucracy when they finally operate efficiently?"

He gestured toward the door with a theatrical flourish.

"So I thought, why not personally debrief my three greatest prodigies while I have the chance? You're free to continue with your other duties, Intern Administrator."

The twitching eye, the subtle clench of her jaw, the tremosr in her hands as she gathered her materials... the Ainsworth mask of perfection had cracked, revealing the desperate need for control beneath.

It reminded Siegfried of a clockwork doll whose gears had been suddenly reversed.

"Very well. I shall adjust my schedule accordingly."

Marseille rose painfully, clutching her papers to her chest.

"Though I would appreciate advance notice in the future, General."

Hazard pressed his palms together in an exaggerated gesture of apology. "You have my solemn word as a Vessalius. Next time I decide to completely upend your schedule, I'll send a formal notification at least thirty seconds beforehand."

For a second, Siegfried seriously thought Marseille was going to strike him. Her entire frame tensed, and the tendons in her neck stood out in stark relief. Then, with an almost herculean effort, she exhaled and forced herself to relax.

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"I... appreciate the consideration." The words came out through clenched teeth. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must attend to my duties. Enjoy your meeting, General."

She stalked past him, back ramrod straight and chin held high.

As the door closed behind her, Hazard collapsed into her vacated chair with a dramatic sigh.

"...Ainsworths. Brilliant minds, unquestionable loyalty, but by the Crown, they're sticklers for procedure! I swear, that girl would schedule her bathroom breaks if she could."

"So what's this about you not being married, Haz-Bear?"

Bianca's question was another live grenade thrown into the room.

Pandora closed her eyes. Evidently, it looked like she was figuring out she precise amount of force needed to... "defenestrate" her subordinate from the eleventh floor.

Siegfried, for his part, felt his consciousness begin to dissociate from his body. Whether it was out of cringe or boredom, he didn't exactly know.

Hazard, in the meantime, blanched.

"I-I—that's—Marseille doesn't know what she's talking about!"

"...Really~?"

Bianca's dimples deepened gleefully.

"'Cause I heard that Lady Evangeline from House Caelum turned ya down at the Winter Solstice Ball last year! And before that, ain't Lady Millicent of the Lesser Nobility House Ashbrooke reject your proposal? Oh! And ain't there that scandal with the daughter of the Fioran ambassador when—"

"That is COMPLETELY baseless slander! I'll have you know that women frequently express interest in my company! I've received no fewer than seventeen formal courtship inquiries this year alone! Seventeen! Do you know what kind of numbers those are for a man of my age and position?! Why, if I wanted to, I could have a different woman on my arm every week! EVERY WEEK! And... and..."

"Seventeen rejections?" Bianca whistled. "That's impressive, Haz-Bear!"

"NOOOOOOO! Seventeen women expressing interest! And I've turned them down because I'm focused on my career and the security of the Empire and not... not..."

He buried his face in his hands.

"...not some... some... hopeless bachelor destined to die alone and unloved, surrounded by nothing but medals and empty wine bottles..."

Bianca looked at Pandora for help. Pandora was still staring at the window, contemplating the physics involved in propelling her friend out of it at terminal velocity. No help there.

"Er, entschuldigung, General," Siegfried offered lamely.

Hazard's head snapped up, a manic glint in his steel-gray eyes.

"Siegfried, my boy! Surely a man of your..."

"For being ze virgin of thirty years."

Hazard froze.

"I was going to say 'wisdom.'"

"Riiiiiight," Bianca chimed in, winking suggestively. "Sure you were."

"Oh my days! I don't need to justify my romantic choices to a bunch of teenagers! After the war, I plan to settle down with a beautiful lady who appreciates my many qualities. I'm quite skilled in numerous areas that would make me an excellent husband!"

"Like what?"

"Well, I—" Hazard gestured vaguely. "I'm an exceptional dancer. And I've been told my cooking is quite—"

"Can you even use a microwave?"

"...N-no. But I have servants for that!"

The silence was deafening.

"...Staff... for a microwave?" Bianca whispered. She looked seriously disturbed at the prospect of a functioning adult human being unable to figure out how to heat something in a small box of electricity for a minute and a half.

She was from an orphanage, and yet even she looked genuinely horrified.

"I'm a Field Marshal!" Hazard shot back.

"Yet you can't even 'field' a marriage~"

'Field Marshal Hazard Vessalius: General of the Dragoon Corps, Wall of the West, and master of the microwave,' Siegfried mused inwardly.

"General Vessalius!" Pandora cut through the conversation. "I believe we were scheduled for a debriefing regarding our reassignment from the Northern Theater? Perhaps we could focus on matters of actual military significance rather than your... personal affairs?"

Her tone made it clear this wasn't a suggestion but a desperate plea to steer the conversation back to anything—literally anything—resembling professional discourse.

"For ze love of ze Convergence," Siegfried muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, "stop being such a bumbling shithead and get on with it."

Hazard gaped at him in betrayal.

"Et tu, Eisenberg? I expected a fellow man to back me up! Can't you attest to my... my wily ways with women? My prowess in the art of—"

"ZE DEBRIEFING."

"I concur. If you could behave like an actual commander for five consecutive minutes, I would consider it nothing short of a miracle," Pandora said flatly.

"Right! Yes. The debriefing." Hazard cleared his throat, attempted to assume a serious expression, failed completely, tried again, and finally managed something approaching the gravitas needed of a military general.

"Let me just..."

He shuffled some papers, dropped them, retrieved them from the floor, knocked over a pen holder in the process, righted it, and finally settled into Marseille's chair with as much authority as he could muster at the moment.

"Ahem. As you were informed via encrypted missive, you have been reassigned from the Northern Theater effective immediately."

The room's atmosphere noticeably shifted. Even Bianca's smile dimmed slightly as she straightened in her chair. Military reassignments were never casual matters, especially in wartime.

"For the past eighteen months, you three have distinguished yourselves in what has become the bloodiest front of this conflict. The Northern Theater was supposed to be a defensive action by us. Just a temporary measure to prevent Sugoroku forces from completely overrunning Wallachian territory in the Canadian Colonies."

The blond rose from the desk, moving to a large tactical map mounted on the wall. Purple markers indicated Sugoroku positions, red represented Tachyon forces, and blue showed the remaining Wallachian strongholds.

Using the visualization... it was easy to see that Wallachia had lost nearly sixty percent of its colonial holdings.

"It first began as just a petty border dispute, but now... it's become an existential threat to the balance of power established after World War II," Hazard continued, tracing his finger along the northern borders. "When Sugoroku fabricated their 'ancestral claims' to Wallachian territories, we expected our brother empire to easily repel them. Instead..."

"Zey were utterly annihilated," Siegfried finished. "An embarrassment to imperial dignity."

Hazard looked at Siegfried remorsefully, as he knew that Siegfried was a Wallachian himself, and it must have hurt to see his motherland lose so pathetically. To have to watch the entire Canadian mainland be reduced to a playground for the other world powers.

However, if the Eisenberg scion were to be honest, he would have said that it didn't hurt as much. Not when Wallachia itself was the very same nation that couldn't even defend their nobles from assassinations.

The weak and utterly pitiful nature of the Empire was what cost him his entire bloodline at the hands of an unknown assassin.

Or, a simple "poisoning" as he saw on a newspaper in Canada many months back.

The Wall of the West continued.

"The Wallachian military was decimated within the first three months. Their unwillingness to modernize their thaumaturgical applications left them vulnerable to Sugoroku's innovative techniques. Without our intervention, they would have lost everything by now."

"Which us, Tachyon, so euphemistically refers to as 'aiding our civilized brethren against eastern barbarians' in official communications." Pandora sighed heavily. "With all due respect, General, I still question the strategic value of defending Wallachia. We're hemorrhaging resources to prop up a stagnant hegemony that is, frankly, beyond saving. And for what? To satisfy some archaic sense of obligation?"

She glanced at Siegfried, but he didn't take the bait.

Hazard frowned.

"Your dissent is noted, Lieutenant. But our alliance with Wallachia is rooted in a long history of shared blood, nobility, support, and the founders both knowing each other personally. Besides... many Tachyon Houses originate from Wallachia. For example, House Vessalius."

Pandora instantly deflated, a rare look of genuine guilt crossing her features.

"...Forgive me, General Vessalius. That was... insensitive of me. I was not thinking."

He waved a hand dismissively.

"No harm done, Lieutenant. Believe it or not, I agree with much of what you said."

"Ah… you do?"

"Of course. I may be bound by duty and honor, but I'm not blind to politics. Point is, we need Wallachia to have control over Canada. If it falls entirely, Sugoroku establishes a direct border with Tachyon territories. There's no doubt in my mind that they'll continue their expansion southward within five years, give or take."

He tapped a section of the map where the borders of three empires converged.

"The High General—my elder sister—recognized this threat immediately. That's why she personally oversaw operations in the Northern Theater for the first six months of our involvement."

Siegfried's face darkened at the mention of Helen Vessalius. Unlike Hazard's approachable demeanor, the High General was renowned for her clinical brutality. It was under her orders that he had been "recruited" after being captured in the Canadian Colonies. A former Wallachian noble reduced to petty thievery, forced into military service as an alternative to execution.

"Your division has received direct orders from me for the past four months," Hazard continued, "which, as I'm sure Lieutenant Kircheisen has informed you, is quite the honor given your ages."

Bianca beamed pridefully, while Pandora simply closed her eyes in resignation. Siegfried remained impassive.

"Eisenberg's mastery of Earth Thaumaturgy as well as his progression in ⸢Ironhide⸥... Kircheisen's exceptional command of Water Thaumaturgy enhanced by ⸢Aquamarine⸥... and Idrina's ⸢Anima Pura⸥—perhaps the most powerful healing Birthright we've documented in a non-Lazarus bloodline for generations… a Spontaneous one, no less"

He couldn't help but smile, genuinely smile, without any reservation.

"You three have done more to turn the tide of this war than an entire regiment of Legionnaires. Your contributions are nothing short of remarkable."

"You're making us blush, Haz-Bear~" Bianca giggled behind her hand, though her eyes sparkled as if praise were a drug for her.

But Siegfried Eisenberg wasn't convinced.

"Then why are we being reassigned?"

Hazard's smile faded. He returned to the desk, extracting a different map from the scattered papers—this one showing the Pacific coastline.

"Despite committing significant resources, we've reached a stalemate in the Northern Theater. Sugoroku can't advance further without unsustainable casualties, but neither can we push them back effectively."

Hazard's finger traced a line across the Pacific.

"However, we've received recent intelligence suggesting that an opportunity has emerged that could seriously alter the strategic landscape."

He paused, unsure of how to proceed.

Then he finally said it.

"The Sword Saint is missing."

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