“Is something wrong, Anna?”

General Viktor greeted me in his usual composed and impeccable manner, seated at his desk with a report in his left hand.

Yes, his usual manner.

“...”

Just hours ago, he had commanded a battle that would go down in history, earning the admiration of superiors, officers, and soldiers alike.

Anyone else in his position would have felt immense pride, perhaps even unrestrained joy.

And why wouldn’t they? No one would question a victorious general for showing elation.

“If you’ve completed your duties, take the chance to rest. There’s no need to stay in my tent.”

Yet, Viktor’s expression was utterly subdued.

Not simply restrained—it was as if there was no joy in him at all. His calm demeanor felt unnervingly unnatural.

“...”
“...Hm?”

I slowly approached his desk.

“General Viktor.”
“Do you need something?”
“Have you finished your work?”
“I was preparing for the reorganization of the 1st Provisional Legion. It’s almost done.”

He gestured absentmindedly, adding as if it had just occurred to him, “Ah, could you help me with these reports? I seem to have scratched myself adjusting my armor. When the battle ended, I noticed I’d been injured.”

He raised his right hand, showing a scab on the tip of his thumb—a sight that made me wince.

“Did you not treat it?”
“It’s nothing. I just can’t grip a pen properly because I don’t want blood staining the reports.”

I was startled by his nonchalance, but Viktor seemed unbothered by my reaction.

“Wait here a moment. I’ll get the supplies.”

With his usual shrug, he waited as I fetched antiseptic, ointment, and bandages. Sitting beside him, I took his injured hand.

“This might sting a little as I clean it.”
“...”

Gently pulling his hand toward me, I poured clean water over the wound.

“You said it was a scratch?”
“I’m not sure. After the battle, I just noticed it was bleeding.”

Inspecting it closely, I saw something unusual.

A battlefield injury to the fingertip would usually involve a torn nail or a clean cut from a weapon or armor. But his nail was intact at the root, ruling out the former. The latter didn’t explain the uneven, torn appearance of the nail.

It looked like a self-inflicted bite.

“...It happens sometimes.”
“Indeed.”

Instead of asking, I applied ointment and wrapped the wound in thick bandages to conceal it from others.

This was not something anyone else needed to see.

“Thank you.”
“It’s my duty as your adjutant. Now, which reports need my attention?”
“These, here.”

Taking the documents he handed me, I skimmed their contents—and half-confirmed my suspicions.

They were casualty reports from the recent battle.

“The title of Deputy Commander isn’t given lightly. Until we enter Saint-Toir, it’s my job to coordinate the roles of the 10th Legion, 8th Legion, and 1st Provisional Legion.”

Because I was his adjutant, always by his side, I knew this about him:

After every battle, Viktor would spend hours poring over casualty reports.

At first, he would review detailed summaries of both enemy and friendly losses. Over the past year, he had shifted his focus almost exclusively to the names and numbers of his fallen soldiers.

“The losses to the 10th Legion are heavy. Commander Gerhardt seems troubled by it. The relatively lighter losses in the 8th Legion and 1st Provisional Legion mean we’ll likely be tasked with escorting prisoners.”
“I see.”

He showed no visible emotion, no fluctuation in tone.

But having observed him for so long, I couldn’t ignore the faint twitch of his eyes every time he mentioned casualties.

...He had always been like this.

Since I became his adjutant, no battle had ever deviated from his intentions. Yet not once had Viktor shown even a hint of joy within his tent.

In front of his soldiers, he would celebrate their victory, extolling its significance. But in private, he would sit at his desk, expressionless, reviewing reports.

“What do you think, Anna?”

His voice pulled me from my thoughts. I had been wondering about the inner turmoil he never revealed, the cost of the seemingly perfect façade he maintained.

“...Anna?”
“Ah, yes, General.”
“I’d like to hear your opinion.”
“My opinion...”

I came to a conclusion.

If his struggles yielded such remarkable results, that would be one thing. But if Viktor was suffering silently, I couldn’t ignore it.

“General.”
“...?”

Instead of addressing his question directly, I said something else.

“You were right. You’ve always been right, and you will continue to be.”

He furrowed his brow, intrigued.

“Soldiers who march into battle understand the constant proximity of death. Yet many officers fail to grasp this reality.”

I continued before he could interject.

“Most officers see us merely as tools—blunt instruments to wield. They justify sacrifice as inevitable, even glorious.”

His gaze hardened, but he let me speak.

“You are different, General. Under your command, we are treated as individuals, not just numbers. Every soldier who has fought for you knows this.”

“...”

“While the means vary, the outcome is consistent. Despite overwhelming odds, the casualties under your command are always shockingly low.”

I wasn’t good at expressing my emotions, but I tried my best to convey the thoughts that soldiers often shared in whispers.

No one could replicate what Viktor had accomplished.

“Your soldiers do not fear death under your leadership, General. Even if we were to perish, none of us would ever blame you.”

“Anna.”

“We believe there is no greater honor than to serve and, if necessary, to die under your command. So please, trust in yourself as much as we trust in you.”

When I finished, Viktor lowered his head, deep in thought.

“Anna.”
“...!”

He stood and approached me, hesitating before leaning down to embrace me gently.

“General?”

His warmth enveloped me, and I froze, startled. I had seen him hug others before, but this was the first time he had embraced me.

I slowly raised my arms and returned the gesture, wrapping them around his back.

“Anna.”
“I’m here.”

His voice, steady but trembling slightly, came from close enough to feel his breath.

“Stay with me. Always.”

My face flushed as his words sank in. The warmth of his embrace, the firmness of his frame, and the contrast between his usual stoicism and his vulnerable tone made my heart race.

“I will do my best.”
“...Thank you.”

We stayed like that, in silence, for a few minutes.

A few days later, the Imperial army triumphantly entered Saint-Toir, parading their victory along with the captured royal prisoners.